


My Condolences

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Bratting, Breathplay, Butt Plugs, Cock Slut Stiles Stilinski, Dirty Talk, Embarrassment Kink, Face-Sitting, Feelings, Feminization, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Gratuitous Smut, Heat Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mirror Sex, Misunderstandings, Multiple Orgasms, No mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Overstimulation, Post-Season/Series 03, Rimming, Sassy Peter Hale, Size Queen Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski in Panties, Teasing, Unexpected Heat, Voyeurism, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 99,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22945048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: "Dildos, you say," Peter muses, looking down at the growing damp spot on the back of Stiles' jeans. A virgin is both thrilling and more complicated. Peter considers, then allows himself a quick smirk. "Yes, well, I'm afraid after this, you will find themsorelylacking. You have my condolences."[Peter and Stiles get into a tricky situation where the only option is to... you guessed it, fuck or die! NSFW image inside.]
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 72
Kudos: 462





	1. Shameless

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of the realization that we hadn't written any Steter ABO & we also like 'fuck or die' trope... ehe. Dis is nasty, enjoy! 🔥 - merry
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format.
> 
> At times the flow can be jarring - we know - but please forgo any constructive criticism regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories and cut down on the introspection/words etc. Thanks! :)

* * *

* * *

It had started, as most things in Beacon Hills do, with strange happenings in the town. At first, it wasn't _too_ bad. Nothing had caught anyone's attention for a good few weeks, until a rush of drug-related overdoses had hit the hospital. All young men, all in their late teens and early twenties. The ones that survived, when questioned, hadn't been able to remember where they'd gotten the drugs. All they'd known had been that they couldn't remember _why_ they'd done it - only that they'd suddenly felt free to let loose.

On its own, it wouldn't have been worthy of the pack's attention. Then each young man listed the same place as the origin: _Jungle_. One trip to the club had brought with it a very confused owner, who reluctantly admitted that things had been _happening_ for awhile, mostly the incidents of public indecency and demand for condoms (which wasn't exactly bad for business).

The pack had uncertainly listed it as a possibility - up until the moment that the sheriff had sent Parrish over to check it out in the evening. When Parrish had shown up at Derek's loft later that night, seemingly in a daze, everyone had been surprised. No one as much as Lydia was when he'd grabbed her and suddenly pulled her into a kiss.

No one had said anything after he drew back, and it hadn't taken long for understanding and shock to dawn in his eyes. Only then had he turned to Scott, whose eyes were almost as wide as Lydia's, and said, "there's... _definitely_ something going on over there."

Barring Peter (who had whistled, and muttered, "about time") everyone else had been too polite to say anything about the incident.

Peter secretly believes that _that_ is why Scott and Derek had selected him to go, with Stiles as his partner. It's not _just_ that Stiles is the only one who can tolerate Peter for long periods of time, it's that Scott had weakly argued that he was in a _relationship_ , and he hadn't wanted to risk anything 'for single dudes' happening to him. So he'd delegated to Peter and, considering that Derek had scowled bloody murder at him when Scott had looked hopefully in his direction, Stiles had been volunteered in his place. Plus, people are more likely to talk to an Omega.

 _Jungle_ is exactly the way that Peter remembers it. It's loud and crowded and as ridiculous as always, but he and Stiles are admitted without fuss. As far as the bouncer is concerned, an Alpha and Omega walking in together _are_ together, and they've used the tactic on more than one occasion. From there, they both fan out and start looking around.

It doesn't take Peter long to find the culprit. Honestly, he's going to need to have _words_ with Parrish for being as obtuse as he can be, because the man with the longer white beard and silken shirt standing by the far wall is a dead giveaway. Peter _feels_ the power radiating from him like a scent, feels it prickle across his skin. He winds up calling Stiles over and while Stiles is skeptical at first, he does give in.

It goes well, right up until the moment that - mid-conversation - the old man tuts and looks between them.

"You _have_ been through a lot, haven't you?" He sighs. "Possession on one hand, and terror on the other. Insanity, violence, and now _repression_? I believe I have a fix for that."

Then he reaches out, and before he so much as touches either of them, Peter's claws are slashing in the air, a deep sensation of _wrong_ ringing in his chest. He has one second to feel triumphant as the man's eyes go wide, and the next second, everything goes dark.

* * *

Unfortunately, this _isn't_ even the first time that Stiles Stilinski has been transported into some other supernatural dimension. Oh, and he's also with one Peter Hale too. Given that he's actually able to tolerate Peter, he's usually stuck with him. Stiles doesn't know if he'd say it's ironic or what, but here they are, in this pickle, and it's not exactly going well for them.

This time they're not stuck in some dilapidated way station controlled by ghostriders. This time they're in a simple but spacious stone room. No windows, no doors but torches illuminate the room. A large bed covered in what looks like richly colored silk linens and throw pillows is in the middle of the room and against the far wall, there's a fucking _throne_. Yeah, a throne, with the supernatural douchebag of the week sitting there looking pleased as punch to have them as guests or prisoners or whatever they happen to be.

And this douchebag is an old Santa Claus lookin' bearded weirdo wearing a _housecoat_ and nursing a glass of wine. It's a pretty weird sight but the dude is clearly powerful if he's able to transport them and render Peter useless (Peter's _tried_ attacking and now has given up lest he ends up back on his ass - amusing, but not ultimately not helpful).

Given that Stiles is an Omega, he prefers to _not_ be in stressful situations with an Alpha. But this... well, this situation is more curious and frustrating to him as the dude hasn't actually been _violent_ toward them.

Although maybe Stiles _should_ be stressed because of what the geezer just said:

_'The only way out is to embrace freedom.'_

"Uh, _what_?" Stiles repeats, clearly incredulous. He's not up for more riddles, not after the nogitsune.

"Oh, it really is rather simple!" The dude says, jovial for some reason. Next to Peter, Stiles stiffens as his eyes narrow. "I'll only let you go once _I'm_ satisfied that you've been liberated of your silly shackles." Bushy eyebrows waggle. Stiles gulps. "Sexual liberation, my friends, sexual liberation."

* * *

Perhaps Peter should have known better than to attempt an attack first thing upon waking up in this stone chamber, but he does have a few personality faults. One of them, much as he's reluctant to admit to it, is his... issue with confinement. Being locked away in his own mind for the better part of six years has given him a slight aversion to captivity. So, while it hadn't been his smartest idea ever, Peter wants to argue that it had been _justifiable_ when he'd come to, taken stock of his situation, and then had dashed ahead with the full intention of tearing this magical creature's throat out.

Being sent careening across the room to slam against the far wall hadn't been his finest moment. He's fairly sure he'd ruptured a few discs in the process, but he heals fast, even in this oddly claustrophobic place.

Stiles, for his part, looks completely nonplussed, like _he_ can't believe this is happening any more than Peter can. His scent is suddenly thick with stress, but to his credit, he doesn't let it filter through the whole room. He looks vaguely tired as he stands next to Peter (because he'd rushed over once Peter had hit the wall) eyeing their benevolent benefactor warily.

Then the man _talks_ , and while Stiles looks confused, something hesitant sharpens in Peter's mind. He darts a quick glance towards Stiles and then back again, and when Peter catches the glint of danger and amusement in the old man's eyes, he understands. A few seconds later, his suspicion is confirmed.

"Pagan of some sort, I assume," Peter drawls, gingerly picking himself up from the floor.

"Of a sort, given the traditional definition," the man allows with a small shrug. His smile is still bright, but there's age in his eyes. "Everything is considered Pagan these days. You're the first to come close, though."

Peter nods, outwardly calm, but inwardly trying to find _some_ way to get out. "Not too difficult to figure out. Pagan deities. Always about _sex._ Really, it's a stereotype by now."

The old man's eyes narrow slightly at Peter but he only lifts his wine glass to his lips. He turns his attention to Stiles instead, smiling in a much warmer manner.

"As I said. Embrace freedom, and you both are free to leave. Perhaps _you_ will be more agreeable. You've ached for him. Why deny yourself what you want?"

* * *

Before they'd been transported into some other plane, the dude had mentioned things like possession and terror and insanity and none of that sounds good. Because that means that somehow this entity knows about _them_ , or at least knows about the supernatural comings and goings of Peter and him and just how powerful is this bearded perv? How much does he (is it even really a _he_ ) know?

Because _sexual_ _liberation_? That's a new one. Normally it's all about about power or revenge or slaughter...

This is targeted. This is about _them_. And some wine-drinkin', housecoat wearin' magical old dude singling them out can't be a good thing. Peter guesses _Pagan,_ and Stiles doesn't know anything about Pagan deities or whatever and now hardly seems like the time to try and do some research. Actually, it's too late for research. They're stuck in the thick of it.

'Embrace the freedom' may not be, _commit_ _great_ _acts of violence,_ but it still makes Stiles' stomach sink. His suspicions are proved right when the dude addresses him and mentions _aching_ for Peter. The dude's not wrong. Stiles' cheeks heat. Peter and he have had this lingering sexual tension for a while, but it's not a big deal. Peter's an Alpha and he's an Omega and Peter's _also_ supernatural and smart and hot. Why wouldn't Stiles kinda sorta be interested in Peter? But they've lasted _this_ long without anything happening. Stiles' suppressants temper that side of himself. He's managed to not get mmegaslutty for Peter and by now it's a source of pride for him.

"You literally want us to boink in this bed and then you'll let us go?"

"Yes," the creature replies smoothly with a shrug of a shoulder as he gestures to the bed with its free hand.

"Nope. Not gonna happen. Peter might be into that kinky shit, but I'm not," Stiles insists and lifts his head up. He refuses to believe that _that's_ what the deity wants. _That_ makes no sense. It's absolutely ridiculous. He isn't going to get fucked by Peter and watched like this.

The dude frowns as if disappointed but then his expression quickly clears up. "Oh, we'll see about that..." And the Pagan-whatever snaps his fingers and Stiles is hit with a dizzying wave of _wrong_ as he falls to his knees, gasping. He immediately feels warmer and uncomfortable and there's no mistaking the emergence of slick dripping from him and his head snaps to glance up at Peter with a frantic look on his face.

What the fuck. A _Heat?_ But it's not a slower, natural build. It's slamming into him quicker and harder and Stiles' fingers curl into fists, afraid and frustrated that this is rapidly slipping out of his control.

* * *

The moment that the deity lifts his hand and snaps his fingers, Peter knows that something horrible is about to happen. He doesn't _need_ his enhanced senses to figure it out, and he's been around the supernatural for long enough to know that whatever is going to happen, neither of them will like it.

So, when Stiles' scent suddenly spikes _sharply_ and Peter is hit with a _rush_ of pheromones that he's never sensed from Stiles before, Stiles isn't the only one who lets out a gasp. Stiles' is louder and visceral, and Peter watches as Stiles drops to his knees beside him, but he masks his shock as best as he can. Across from them, perched on his throne, the god smiles behind his wine glass, amusement and a rakish sort of warmth in his eyes. Yet in Peter's perception, he sees the thread of coldness there, too.

He doesn't trust gods or demons or spirits. Reality-altering beings are high on his list of things to avoid, and werewolves avoid magic like the plague because it goes against their fundamental nature.

But watching Stiles drop down and smelling the sudden warm sweetness all but _explode_ over his senses, Peter blinks hard and takes a small step back, switching to breathing through his mouth. Stiles' scent is so sweet he can practically _taste_ it.

"There. Inhibitions block so many from what they truly desire," the god says warmly, as though he's passed on a generous gift and not its own sort of curse. "Repressing that which gives you pleasure. Sadly a common theme in the age today."

"It's called modernism," Peter drawls back, trying to ignore the way that his instincts - his _Alpha_ instincts, not the burned and broken ones - have taken an immediate interest in the sweetness rolling from Stiles in waves. Peter glances down at him, and he notes the wet spot forming on the back of Stiles' jeans almost at once. Yet more than anything, Peter locks away the frantic look on Stiles' face. Lovely.

"On a scale of one to ten," Peter says to Stiles, caution and calculation in his eyes. "How bad is it right now?"

Because he has _never_ experienced a Heat flooding through an Omega so quickly. It's dizzying even for him, a week's worth of slow, enticing build up happening in mere seconds. He can only imagine how bad it is for Stiles.

* * *

Stiles has only had one real Heat and that was during his, _am I losing my mind_ stint. Thankfully it only lasted a few days and he'd just locked himself away in his room. Suppressants are no match if the stress is powerful enough and back then, the stress had fear had been enough to get him going.

This is nothing like that, though. _This_ is slamming into him and Stiles feels winded, as if he's just played a lacrosse game and ran his ass off. The fabric of his clothing feels harsh against his skin and worse than that - with mortification - Stiles feels his boxers and jeans beginning to stick to him because of the slick he's producing.

He trembles as the Dude speaks up and words like _inhibitions_ , _repressing_ , _pleasure_ swirl in Stiles' mind, but it's hard to link them together. All he knows is that the guy did this to him - triggered some full-throttle Heat and that apparently it wants them to go to the bone zone.

Which Stiles' body so, totally wants. The urge to get fucked and knotted (by Peter) is something primal and deep and it's pounding through him. And this want isn't exactly new, but it's never been powerful and attached to a freakin' Heat scorching through him and messing up his _everything_.

Normally Stiles would retort and fight back in any way he could, but he's currently gripped by hormones and trying to resist crawling over to Peter and yanking on his pant leg and _begging._ Ugh. No. They can't do it like this. Not like this.

The question is easy enough to focus on and Stiles grits out, " _eight_." At least he thinks it's an eight. He closes his eyes, breathing roughly as he leans forward onto his forearms, his sweaty forehead resting on the cooler stone floor. In doing so, he's _almost_ presenting, subconsciously lifting his ass up a little in the process, but, like this, he feels better.

* * *

Eight. The number swirls in Peter's mind for a second, a little like a looming axe, because it's not just a hint of heat, it's like a roaring fire in Stiles' blood. He's aware that Stiles _could_ be lying. As far as he knows, Stiles hasn't had a heat in a few years now, and even then, it had been muted, spotty, and quick. Stiles hardly has the experience of a full-blown heat under his belt.

Yet Peter can _smell_ the slick suddenly dripping from Stiles' hole. He can hear the soft, breathless sounds that Stiles is trying to bite back, and Peter knows without needing to ask that Stiles is telling the truth. It's enticing. It's _sorely_ tempting. He smells like temptation personified, especially as this isn't the only time that Peter has felt that flicker of fire under his own skin in regards to Stiles.

Stiles is a brilliant young man, and _exactly_ the type of Omega that Peter is apparently drawn to. He's combative and sarcastic and viciously intelligent. He's not a cowering, whimpering thing. He's cunning and manipulative and toeing the line of morality the way that Peter often does. He's got just enough _good_ in him to make him insufferable, but Peter's not actually displeased _that_ it's Stiles. He's irritated that the choice and pace has been ripped away from him.

Stiles goes down into a presenting position, looking as though he isn't even aware of doing so. Peter swallows and then turns back to the god, expression quicker, cutting.

"You put the Hellhound into a daze and sent him away. You're clearly capable of taking over our minds. Why not just force us to do what you want?"

There's a quick, pleasant smile shot in his direction. The man chuckles. "He didn't come _with_ the recipient of his repression. You did."

"And if we refuse?"

There is a single moment of silence. It's a weighted silence, something with lingering threat underlying it. Then, finally, the jovial look is back. "Then you stay here."

"Here. For good?" Peter asks, and the god nods, looking sharply pleased. Peter feels a small rush of cold down his spine. "And... for curiosity's sake, the general rules of reality still apply here? We still need to sleep? To eat?"

The wine in the intricate glass swishes as the god's smile shifts. It's still jovial, still welcoming, but there's an edge to it. He nods. "Precisely."

"So it's either we give in, or we die." Peter doesn't even need to wait for the nod this time. His pride has always been his downfall, but if there is one thing that Peter _refuses_ to do, it's die again.

He looks around at the small stone room, at its bare walls and lack of food, water, and amenities. His pride burns at the thought of being forced into anything, but if it's between his pride and death, Peter's not too proud to avoid death. He's quiet for a long moment, and then he crouches down swiftly and presses his hand against the back of Stiles' neck, gripping just enough to exert a level of _control_.

"If there's anything you _don't_ want me to do to you, you should probably tell me now," Peter says airily. "Much as I would have preferred this to come about naturally, I'm not about to die here, and I doubt you're fond of the idea either. Are you a virgin?"

* * *

Stiles is practically spewing slick out of himself while in front of some perverted Pagan-Santa who apparently wants them to bang. It's not ideal. It's actually infuriating and embarrassing to be plagued by a sudden Heat and have all of his senses be going haywire. Stiles is aware of his attraction to Peter - most of the pack are - and he doesn't give a fuck. It is what it is - Peter isn't the crazed Alpha werewolf he used to be years ago.

Still, he's not especially pleased to have the hots for Peter on a normal day, mostly because Stiles doesn't want to be stroking Peter's ego. That ego don't need any more stroking.

The stone of the floor is cool against Stiles' forehead and he tries to focus everything on breathing. In and out and in and out. He's fine. He can do this... He's just horny as hell, his fingers curling and uncurling, his eyes tightly shut. Despite the fact that Stiles is _trying_ to concentrate on his breathing, he's keenly aware of the fact that his cock is rock hard and that he feels this hook trying to yank him over to Peter.

And the scary thing is, Stiles can _see_ himself crawling over to Peter and begging him, Santa-Pervert's supernatural threat be damned. While logically he knows it's been like a minute, his body is convinced that he's been waiting and needing this for _days_ and it's freakin' jarring.

Stiles hears Peter talk to the dude, but his brain doesn't care about processing the words. He's hot and wet and antsy and it's the kind of arousal that's entirely uncomfortable (probably because nothing is being done about it).

When Peter's hand comes to the nape of his neck and squeezes, Stiles is immediately spreading his legs wider, his ass lifting and his pulse jumping. Peter just _touching_ him feels like a monumental relief.

It also makes Stiles want more. A lot more. Peter's voice is clearer to him and helps Stiles focus-- which then in turn has Stiles realizing the position he's in. Fuck. Stiles forces himself to at least put his ass down. He can do that much.

The question burns in Stiles' mind and he clenches his jaw before he gets over it. He knows why Peter is asking. Because Peter will have to fuck and knot him to appease Santa-Perv and Stiles' Heat.

"Technically yes," Stiles finally admits curtly. "But I've used dildos before." He pushes back against Peter's grasp, finding the strength there reassuring.

* * *

This isn't actually ideal, and Peter considers trying to find a way to slash through the old man's throat at a later date, because much as he _had_ subtly been working on this very outcome, he doesn't appreciate being made to play his hand so quickly. Peter had still been calculating the possibility of the whole thing. After all, Stiles hadn't exactly made his attraction a _secret_ , his scent broadcasting very clear _fuck me_ signs whenever he'd been in a specific mood and in Peter's space. Peter had simply been more interested in staying _alive_.

After all, as tempting as a willing Omega is, he hadn't been sure the others in the pack would allow it. Peter really doesn't want to get his throat ripped out again, after all. It's a bit of nasty business. Still, as of right now, neither he nor Stiles have a particular choice - Stiles much less so than him.

So Peter goes for it. It's simple to stop being so cautious, and while he does sense Stiles' embarrassment and frustration at being spoken to the way he is, Peter doesn't plan on stopping. He knows that Stiles is attracted to his confidence and his sarcasm in equal measure. They're both fond of dubious morality.

"Dildos, you say," Peter muses, looking down at the growing damp spot on the back of Stiles' jeans. A virgin is both thrilling _and_ more complicated. Peter considers, then allows himself a quick smirk. "Yes, well, I'm afraid after this, you will find them _sorely_ lacking. You have my condolences."

He doesn't _sound_ sorry in the least. And, as tempting as it is to just go for it here, Peter reluctantly eyes the bed before standing. He reaches down and effortlessly picks Stiles up - at first by the back of his shirt, and then with an arm around his waist - and he carries Stiles over to the silken sheets. Stiles isn't in the mindset to guard his knees against bleeding on the stone, and Peter doesn't feel like staying there. This puts them more front-and-center - and the old bastard _does_ look pleased - but when Peter pushes Stiles down on the bed, he makes a point to deposit him against the pillows. He doesn't need to see the old man leering at him.

"So. Am I to assume that you have no restrictions?" Peter asks Stiles, reaching over to undo Stiles' belt, palm brushing over where Stiles is hard. "Nothing you don't want?"

* * *

There was a time and a place to finally cave in to Peter and now wasn't it. Stiles had assumed that they'd eventually fuck and maybe even get together because Peter and him are actually a pretty good team (which had taken Stiles a few good years to come to terms with). Too bad here and now is going to be it because they've really got no other choice. Peter can't fight and kill the pervert and Stiles can't think straight. Which is infuriating in its own right.

More worrisome is the Heat that's hitting him and no matter how logical or determined Stiles may _want_ to be, his body isn't listening. All the signs are there and in overdrive and his Heat gives no fucks about the inconvenient and bizarre situation they're in.

Stiles isn't especially pleased to be admitting his virginity to Peter, at least not like this. If Stiles wasn't in this position, he'd have used this fact as bait to tease Peter, but alas...

Amazingly, Peter only comments about the dildos and Stiles snorts softly. It's not his fault he's been too busy to get laid. Before Stiles can retort, Peter is lifting him up and half-dragging, half-carrying him over to the bed. Stiles' eyes blink quickly but as he comes to settle on the softness of the pillows and sheets, he gives a pleased sigh. It is better than the floor.

Peter's question has Stiles rolling his eyes - or beginning to - but then Peter's palm brushes over his cock and Stiles gasps, hips lifting greedily to chase after the touch. It has Stiles steeling himself and scowling as he takes matters into his own hands and rips off his shirt.

"What kind of stupid question is that? I want it all, fuckface," Stiles retorts. "You should know that."

* * *

It _is_ a shame that it's a Heat - and a forced one nonetheless - that has brought them to this point. Peter had always suspected that when Stiles finally broke and begged, he would have let Peter take him apart slowly. If there's one thing that Peter likes more than indulging in his own hedonism, it's breaking someone of their resistance to sing his praises. Having Stiles roll his eyes dismissively one moment and then beg Peter desperately later on would have been perfect. As it is, Peter suspects that Stiles _will_ beg before long, but this is something to revisit after they get out of this.

Stiles arches into Peter's touch, perfectly greedy, and Peter smirks to himself. He has a second to be endeared and then suddenly Stiles is rearing up enough to rip his shirt off. Peter watches it fall onto the floor and he idly drinks in the sight of all that pale skin right in front of him.

He wishes, once again, that he'd not been so desperate in the woods that night. He wishes he hadn't gone for the _easy_ bite, but instead the one that he _could_ have. Stiles has made a career out of denying him, and as Peter eyes the veritable canvas waiting to be marked up, he inwardly vows to be the catalyst for Stiles' new addiction: him.

If Peter has his way, Stiles won't be turning him down again.

"You know, arguably, sassing an Alpha _does_ have its downsides," Peter drawls conversationally as his claws slide free. He slashes them once, cutting Stiles' belt clean off, and pops the button off with his thumb. He _does_ undo the zipper (though mostly because he doesn't want to risk cutting anything... _vital_ ) but as soon as he's able, Peter has Stiles' jeans slid down. He watches a drop of slick slide down the back of Stiles' thigh and hums, low and pleased.

God, but Stiles smells good.

"How big were the dildos you used?" Peter asks, breathing in Stiles' scent. "A practical question, for the record. Despite common gossip in the pack, I'm not _actually_ compensating for anything. Quite the opposite. I'd rather you not injure yourself. So. Size queen. Yes? No?"

* * *

It's generally not a great idea to antagonize Peter on the best of days as Peter won't hesitate to shove Stiles into the nearest wall. Peter won't go further than that because Scott, Derek and/or Malia would kick Peter's ass. It's good to have other werewolf-slash-werecoyote friends.

But Stiles can't help it right now - Peter trying to be all courteous or whatever - just doesn't matter to Stiles. Not after they've been eyeing each other with interest and appreciation for a good while and especially not while Stiles is in a full-blown Heat (or almost there). Stiles honestly can't think of a single thing that Peter could do to him that he wouldn't want - other than Peter _not_ doing anything. Which isn't going to be happening because pervert Santa is on some quest for them to bang.

On his back, like he is, Stiles can't see the dude at least. That's a positive. He shivers as Peter uses his claws to - rather dramatically - get rid of his belt. Stiles has always had a werewolf kink, okay, and it's no different now. Despite being shirtless and Peter sliding his jeans down and off, Stiles still feels uncomfortably hot. His boxers are tented, but not obscenely as Omega dicks tend to be on the smaller side.

Peter asking about dildo sizes - if he's a _size queen_ \- has Stiles swallowing and squirming because he knows that Peter _isn't_ lacking down there. But the insinuation about injuring himself has Stiles huffing and sitting up slowly. He's not worried about it.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that I'm a size queen," Stiles shoots back - or tries to - but even he can tell that his voice is more on the desperate edge than hotty. "You get me wet enough and it shouldn't be a problem."

It won't be a problem.

It's now looking at a fully clothed Peter that Stiles bites his lip. Fuck. They're doing this. Okay. He begins working his boxers off. At least he won't have to worry about washing these sheets.

* * *

Peter really _isn't_ lacking below the belt, is the thing. He's noticed Stiles staring over the past few months, but it's very evident right now. His body, naturally, is responding to Stiles' scent - sweet, hot, and addicting - and despite his better wishes, Peter has been hard almost since the moment that Stiles had dropped to his knees. The rise in his own jeans is obvious and straining, and he can already feel the faintest whisper of sensation low in the base of his dick, where his knot will grow.

Stiles' scent sweetens after Peter's question, and he doesn't need to look to know that Stiles is _quite_ aware of Peter's situation. He still sits up, though, looking up at Peter like he's trying to be nonchalant but is physically incapable of managing. Just Stiles' answer is as telling as it would have been had he confirmed the size of his dildos. Peter smirks.

Size queen it is.

He watches as Stiles reaches down, and Peter breathes in deeply as Stiles' boxers slide down his legs. His scent is sweet and thick, and he's just musing on the fact that Stiles seems _plenty_ wet enough when he glances up and sees Stiles' cock. Peter can't deny a lick of hunger that works its way through him, a growl rumbling low and pleased in his chest.

Stiles' cock is slightly smaller, as are most Omegas, but it's still a good handful. It's rosy at its tip and proportioned with the slightest curve that Peter locks away in the back of his mind for being _perfect_ to suck. But, now isn't the time. Still, he chuckles to himself and reaches over, trailing a finger up the underside of Stiles' dick.

" _Adorable_ ," he drawls, skimming the surface of condescending. Peter has a theory. "You know, when I pictured you naked before this, I must admit, I never realized what a _cute_ little cock you would have. Is it as sensitive as it looks?"

* * *

Yeah, Peter's dick won't be a problem. Stiles has already experimented with some larger knotted dildos (and while doing so, fantasized about _Peter's_ cock and knot in particular). It only made sense to push himself... besides, Stiles likes pushing himself, he enjoys the intensity. How would the real thing be, though? He'll find out!

Peter may be dressed, but Stiles can tell that Peter's hard and that Peter wants him. Even before Stiles' wham-bam Heat courtesy of Santa-Perv, the wantage has been mutual. That doesn't change the fact that the situation is absolute shit. Stiles pointedly doesn't turn to his right because that's where the dude's _throne_ is at. At least the guy is staying quiet (for now).

Stiles may be in a Heat and Peter may want him, but it's still the first time Stiles has been _naked_ in front of Peter and that comes with _niggling_ nerves. What if he's not Omega-y enough? What if he's _too_ Omega-y? What if--

Peter chuckles for some reason but before Stiles can get _too_ indignant over it, Peter just flippantly reaches over and runs a finger along the underside of Stiles' cock. Despite being such a slight touch it has the intended effect: Stiles lets out a whine as his hips push up. So sue him, he's easy right now and it's the first time fantasy is becoming reality with Peter. It's kind of a big deal and he's reacting exactly as he _should_ be - at least this is what Stiles tells himself.

But then Peter _talks_ and calls his dick _adorable_ and _cute_ and _little_ and Stiles' cheeks burn as embarrassment and a weird sort of heat wash through him and he feels a surge of slick all but gush out. Fuck.

Stiles' head drops as he gazes down at his cock. It doesn't look cute and little _to him_ but he's used to it - it's what he's always had. Compared to Peter's though? It'd be small. Stiles then has the strange urge to have Peter take _both_ of their dicks in hand, or for Stiles to rub his smaller cock over Peter's and feel how hard and hot and big it is--

"Maybe," Stiles answers in a tight voice, his fingers curling in the fabric of the sheets beside him. "Yeah, but... do you like it?" Kind of seems like an important question to ask.

* * *

Well, well... Peter's gaze brightens in interest the second that Stiles not only arches his hips up off of the bed to chase the touch to his dick, but also the response to what he'd said. Peter doesn't need his senses to note Stiles' response to being told that his dick is _cute_.

Peter listens to his pulse skip, watches as a sudden rush of heat blooms across Stiles' cheeks, and then suddenly the sweetness in the room builds into something heady and lingering. He glances down between Stiles' thighs and notes that they definitely look wetter than they had before. And oh, isn't _that_ interesting?

Peter smirks, a lazy sort of confidence rolling off of him as he looks at the perfect picture that Stiles makes under him. He's suddenly even _more_ annoyed that they've been forced into this situation, because Peter knows that Stiles is bordering heat-drunk. He's keeping his control enough as he can, but having been able to do this to a Stiles sober enough to push back, or argue? Oh, wouldn't _that_ have been precious?

Still, Peter doesn't miss Stiles' embarrassment, or how much he seems to like _being_ embarrassed. He looks down at Stiles' cock, at how hard it is, and Peter wets his lips, thoughtful. Oh, he _could_ draw it out, but there's an art when it comes to humiliation. Reassurance keeps the scales from tipping too far.

"Do I like your cock?" Peter clarifies smoothly. He rubs the pad of his thumb just under the head, and then wraps his fingers loosely around it. He can see the head of Stiles' cock poking out from the end of his fist, and he gives it a slow, leisurely stroke.

"It is _unquestionably_ pretty. So, yes, Stiles. I do like it. It looks like it would be perfect to suck on. Were we on my bed and the situation less... pressing, I'd _show_ you how much I like your pretty little cock. But alas..."

Peter cuts a glance up sharply to the man lounging back on his throne. He looks lazily interested, though perhaps a little amused at their conversation. Peter turns his attention back to Stiles and then slides his hand down, cupping Stiles' balls and stroking over them with his thumb. He can feel Stiles' slick just barely, and Peter decides to indulge. He presses two of his fingers lower, sliding them down until they circle Stiles' puffy, slick hole. Peter hums.

"Well, now. You _do_ get wet easily, don't you? Heat or not."

* * *

Oh, shit. Stiles just asked if Peter _likes_ his cock - his apparently cute and little cock. As soon as his question is out he kinda wants to take it back because he's giving Peter ammunition. Giving Peter ammunition is a dangerous thing, but Stiles can't help it. Peter's an Alpha and Stiles wants him and wants Peter to like his dick. His stupid Heat is pushing him into this, but it's still embarrassing.

It may be dangerous to give Peter ammunition, but they're already in a freakin' bad situation because Santa-Perv _is_ powerful. Maybe the dude isn't holding a blade or pointing a gun at them, but there's other ways to be powerful. Peter hadn't been able to stop Santa-Perv with force and the dude had been able to both transport them somewhere _and_ set off a Heat within him. Frankly, Stiles doesn't want to see what else the Pagan-whatever _can_ do.

Antsy and horny as he is, Stiles thinks he's doing an amazing job of not losing his shit. He hasn't begged Peter and started rutting into the mattress at least. It's a small consolation.

While Peter normally sounds hot, Stiles' hormones are in overdrive because when Peter speaks up and repeats his question, Stiles' thighs quiver. His shaking gets worse when Peter goes a step further and _touches_ his dick. The touch doesn't last - it's not enough. Stiles can't help the clenched whine he gives when Peter claims that his cock is _unquestionably_ _pretty_ and talks about sucking on it if they were on _Peter's_ bed. Stiles is about to argue and insist that Peter should totally suck on his cock - like why does it matter that they're not on Peter's bed, they are _on_ a bed.

Before Stiles can get his argument out, Peter's fingers slide lower and Stiles' legs spread, accommodating without any thought needed. Peter's fingers worm underneath him, finding his needy, wet hole.

That's all it takes for Stiles to shudder and lose it. He's throwing himself at Peter, climbing onto Peter's lap, nestling his head in close as he shamelessly rubs his cock against Peter's stomach, uncaring that it's dragging against clothing.

"Fuck, Peter," Stiles begins, babbling."You gotta get naked, you gotta touch me."

* * *

Peter's fucked Omegas before. Back in school, he hadn't been that discerning. Man, woman, somewhere in between, (Alpha, Beta, _or_ Omega...) so long as they'd been hot and willing, he'd been more than willing to fuck them. He's got the experience, and while it _has_ been a bit of a dry spell lately, it doesn't mean that he's forgotten the way that Omegas tend to act, or the way their bodies work.

Peter's fucked women who haven't gotten as wet as Stiles is now. It's actually quite impressive, and he _fully_ intends on exploring that later, when they're not being forced to put on a show. The old god is still staring; Peter can feel the prickle of heat against the back of his neck that tells him they're being watched. He's considering whether or not to snarl over at him, because he doesn't want Stiles to feel reluctant due to being watched.

As it turns out, Peter doesn't need to be worried. No sooner has he touched Stiles' hole and marveled at how wet he is, than Stiles suddenly moves. Peter's going to blame his lack of reflexes on the god, because he only just manages to sit back and wind an arm around Stiles to stay upright. Then Stiles is clinging and writhing and begging, and Peter can feel the dampness from Stiles' cock dragging against his shirt, and he can feel the wetness of Stiles' slick soaking through his jeans. Peter shudders, his cock fully hard in his jeans, and despite Stiles' begging, he does indulge. His hands slide down to Stiles' ass and grip, fingertips touching slick, and his hands squeeze appreciatively.

But there _is_ the matter of Stiles trying to take matters into his own hands.

"Looks like you're a _little_ more desperate than you wanted me to think you were, hmm?" Peter says thoughtfully. "Well, we can't have that. I'll undress, but I'm not convinced you wouldn't try to sit on my cock the second you were able. Perhaps I was too hasty..."

And with that, before Stiles can question him or argue, Peter suddenly leans forward. He slides a hand between them and uses it to push Stiles off of his lap and pin him down onto the bed. Peter leans in, and he has one second to breathe in the _perfect_ scent of Stiles' slick so damn close, and then he parts his lips and swallows Stiles' cock down with a low hum.

Peter keeps Stiles pinned with one hand, but that means that he has another one free to slide between Stiles' spread legs. And, uncaring whether or not it's too much all at once, Peter presses two of his fingers to Stiles' hot, greedy hole and fucks inside, marveling at just _how_ slick Stiles is inside.

* * *

It's his Heat. That's why he's acting like a needy bitch (in heat). A small part of Stiles' brain is mortified to have him practically clinging to Peter and begging him. Stiles is dirty - his hair damp from sweat, his hole leaking slick like it's nobody's business - and he's rubbing his cock (his _pretty, cute_ cock) against Peter, desperation ripping into him.

It's not at all comfortable to be like this. Having an Alpha nearby and one that he's so very into it is like... it's like a kid with the candy jar _almost_ in reach taunting him, fingertips grazing-- His body is so very aware of everything Peter. Peter's smell. Peter's presence. Peter's attention. Stiles wants it, no, needs it, and he needs more than Peter's casual questing fingers.

Under his ass, he can feel Peter's big, hard cock and that cock can fill him right up and knot him so perfectly so Peter should get naked so they can get sweaty together and get to that--

Peter's hands already feel so good grasping against his ass and adds to the relief at the increase in proximity. Feeling Peter's deliciously sculpted body and heat makes his own Heat more bearable.

Stiles' mouth is opening to refute Peter's words - that he wouldn't just go ahead and sit on Peter's cock outright (at least not before ogling a naked Peter) but Peter is moving.

Or more correctly: _moving him._ Stiles is unceremoniously shoved onto his back, one of Peter's arms pinning him down. " _What!_ " That's as much as Stiles gets out before Peter's mouth just takes his dick all the way in. Stiles' confusion is obliterated by the sudden pleasure of Peter's mouth and tongue on him.

Pervy-Santa might be watching them, but when fingers find his slick-drenched hole and push their way in, Stiles cries out loudly. His back arches as much as he can from the dual assault, toes curling as his hands fly down to Peter's head, fingers burying into Peter's hair. Stiles tries to frantically fuck up into Peter's mouth and down onto Peter's fingers. It's hot and pleasurable and all Stiles wants is _moremoremore_.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Stiles chants, eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming intensity. "Ye-yeah, suck on it - suck on my pretty little cock." Well, guess he's saying that. "Your mouth feels so good, your fingers-- give to me. _Fuck me_."

* * *

Peter doubts that Stiles is expecting the assault that Peter puts him under, but he also doubts that Stiles minds in the slightest. He might have been with a few different Omegas in his lifetime, but the _sound_ that Stiles makes when Peter's lips close around his cock and Peter's fingers fuck into his hole is something Peter knows that he'll be hearing in his mind for years to come. Stiles isn't awkward or bumbling right now. He's lithe and desperate, and sweet, and the way that his hands immediately fly to Peter's head to hold him close is thrilling.

The desire to pin Stiles down and tease him _is_ there, but the way that Stiles immediately begins to fuck up into Peter's mouth and then back down on his fingers like the perfect kind of slut cements it in Peter's mind. He looks up at Stiles, eyes bright with interest, and he lets Stiles continue. Peter allows Stiles' desperate rhythm, allows the way that he jerks his hips up and then slams them back down.

It's not too much for Peter to take, and this close, all but _wrapped_ in Stiles' scent the way that he is, it's like a direct link to his own arousal. Peter fights the urge to bury himself in the scent, to drop his head down lower and damn his fingers in Stiles' ass and replace them with his tongue instead. Besides, while Stiles' cock isn't near Peter's size, that doesn't mean that it isn't perfect for him. Peter sucks, feeling each thrust and throb in Stiles' dick as he desperately chases the heat of Peter's mouth.

Peter doesn't let Stiles down. Stiles asks Peter to fuck him, and fuck him he does. He sets up a quicker pace with his fingers, well aware that it will only take the edge off and entice Stiles more. In Heat, an Omega coming will only increase the sexual frustration without a knot to aide them along, and so Stiles rushing to come is Stiles rushing to sexually frustrate himself _more_.

Peter sucks, tongue molding to the subtle curve of Stiles' pretty cock. He can feel the ridge of the head, a perfect counterpoint to the smoothness of Stiles' skin, and Peter knows he could easily grow accustomed to sucking Stiles off like this. He's so beautifully responsive and Peter allows a low, approving growl to rumble through his throat as he takes Stiles in deep.

* * *

Yes, they're technically being coerced into this, but they've long been eye-fucking each other for a while now so it's not really some hardship. Not that Stiles is appreciative of a Heat smacking into him. He takes suppressants for a reason, after all. Because Stiles would rather not let his body dictate how he behaves. Given the shit that can happen in Beacon Hills, Stiles doesn't have time to be dealing with a Heat (especially considering he doesn't have an Alpha to help him out).

Later, Stiles may worry or at least wonder if Peter's only doing this because of their situation... What will they be or do _after_ this? Will they even talk or acknowledge it? Will they fuck again or will Peter play hard to get? ...Because traditionally the Alpha pursues the Omega and Peter sure as hell wasn't pursuing him before this. Even in a Heat, it had been Stiles practically crawling over to Peter.

But none of that matters right now because Peter's here and touching him and pinning him down and Stiles doesn't care how he's acting because his body demands this. Peter's mouth is hot and welcoming and Peter doesn't tease him with kittenish licks or subpar sucking. Peter's lips are tight around him and while this isn't Stiles' first blowjob, it's already been the best.

It's Peter's fingers diving into his wetness that have him shaking. It's not enough, nothing will be enough until he's properly fucked and knotted, but it's something and that something is amazing and Stiles feels on the verge of coming his brains out already.

Stiles doesn't relent, he moves as he's able to, thrusting up into Peter's mouth before pressing down onto Peter's fingers. He's hungry and focused, his movements almost frenzied as he fully indulges in what Peter gives him.

It's Peter's growl that does it. Stiles feels the vibration against his cock _(cute, little, pretty, adorable)_ and he's tensing up, arching off the bed as his fingers tighten on Peter's hair and he shoots into Peter's mouth with a breathy moan.

* * *

Already Peter knows that when they get out of this, it won't be the last time they fuck. Now that he has - quite literally - had a taste of Stiles, he's not going to let that go again without probable cause. Stiles is far more reactive than Peter had expected him to be all those nights where he'd allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of Stiles finally caving and begging him for it. Now, feeling the frantic thrusting and grinding back against his fingers, Peter feels the satisfaction from it all the way down to his core.

Yes, this is being coerced, and yes, he can _feel_ the damn deity staring at them, watching them to the best of his abilities, but Peter narrows his focus in on Stiles, pushing and sucking and fucking with his fingers until he feels Stiles' muscles begin to clench. Stiles arches off the bed with understandable urgency and Peter takes him in deep, fucking up harder with his fingers as Stiles' pleasure breaks open and all but floods out of him. Peter tastes Stiles' come, swallows it down, and he feels the rush of slick over his knuckles as he works Stiles through his orgasm.

It's immediately clear that Stiles isn't even close to sated, though. As Peter had known. He draws back with an almost obscene wet suck to Stiles' cock and watches it twitch and arch, sensitive but still hungry for more. Looking up at Stiles, at the flush to his cheeks and chest, at the glisten of sweat on his skin, Peter can't help but think of the _many_ ways he could indulge later. Especially considering the fact that Stiles seems to _like_ Peter talking about his dick.

"That was quick. You know, for such a pretty little cock, it sure was pent up," Peter says silkily, leaning back and taking his hands back. His fingers are practically dripping slick as he wipes them on Stiles' thigh, then reaches down and pulls his shirt up and over his head in one smooth movement.

"Looks like your toys and your hands aren't _quite_ enough to satisfy you, Stiles. You need a _real_ Alpha. Not just a stand-in." Peter's hands drop to his belt, and he undoes it with a lower grunt, his own cock aching at even the faintest brush of his hand. "Luckily for you, you have one now. How long has it been since you came like that?"

* * *

Stiles comes hard, his cock spurting hotly into Peter's mouth accompanied by a gush of slick. Peter doesn't pull off or stop - Peter's fingers thrust into him, working him through it, adding to the buzz of pleasure and only after Stiles thinks he's stopped jizzing does Peter swallow. Stiles shakes, feeling dazed and blissed out.

Having an orgasm while on a Heat is different, because there is a rush of obvious pleasure, but Stiles isn't sated - he's most definitely _not_ done. His cock isn't softening, he's still fidgety, desperate and amped up. If anything, now Stiles' body is more aware of what it wants (needs) and it's Peter's knot filling and locking him in place.

Stiles blinks sluggishly as he pants through the aftershocks of his orgasm. When Peter pulls off, Stiles can't bring himself to even look up and meet Peter's eyes. It's a curious sensation to be trying to calm down but also still be riled up after coming.

It's Peter talking that has Stiles focusing as best he can. Despite what he said while getting sucked off, it's still embarrassing to hear Peter refer to his dick as a _pretty little cock_ that was pent up and Stiles clenches his jaw. He might actually be more upset at _himself_ for apparently liking it than Peter saying it. Fingers withdraw and Stiles can't help but make a displeased sound at the emptiness.

Before he can voice any complaints, Peter strips off his shirt and Stiles is momentarily appeased because _damn_ , Peter is hot - all defined muscles and abs that Stiles wants to lick down and across and every direction really. Stiles is blatantly staring as Peter just goes on and sings his own praise, blabbing about being a real Alpha or whatever.

Stiles had been doing just fine until a magic Heat got put on him, thanks. He's about to say as much when he registers that Peter is going for his pants.

And then Stiles is scrambling up onto his knees, his hands reaching out to the bulge in Peter's jeans and rubbing appreciatively over it. "Let me taste you," Stiles implores. "I'm not the only one who's into this. Your dick's nice and hard for me."

* * *

Peter doesn't actually expect Stiles to answer him. His questions are mostly rhetorical. He's half-expecting Stiles to curse him out for most of the things he says, but to Peter's absolute surprise (and subtle delight) Stiles seems _very_ into the comments regarding his cock. It's not like Peter isn't aware that mild humiliation can be a kink, but he hadn't ever pegged it as something that Stiles might like.

He supposes it might make a bit of a difference that he _does_ enjoy Stiles' dick. In fact, were the situation not so dire, Peter might have taken ample time to suck Stiles off again and again, until his cries became begging and overstimulation.

It's food for thought. He puts a mental pin in the idea, and as he undoes his belt with slick fingers and threads the teeth from the loop, he's already moving on to how best to situate Stiles for this.

Except instead of staying pliant and obedient, Stiles almost immediately surges back upright. It's enough to send a twist of pleasure through Peter's chest; he's never been one for a mindless Omega. Stiles' stubbornness and challenging nature is one of Peter's favorite things about him. No one else had ever stared him right in the eye, terrified out of their mind, and told him _no_. Peter can respect tenacity like that.

But the touch of Stiles' fingers to the rise at the front of his jeans is enough to make Peter shiver. He arches his hips, chasing the feeling, and _really_ , how is he supposed to turn _that_ down? Peter's eyes glint blue briefly, a flicker of control flaying itself away before he gathers it back up again.

"I suppose I can agree to that," Peter says roughly, popping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down. He sighs when he eases his jeans down, but instead of stripping his boxers down too, he pauses. He glances at Stiles with a glint of amusement in his eyes and then draws his hands away.

And, quite pointedly, Peter turns around and kicks his jeans off, then sits back against the headboard. His dick strains almost obscenely in his boxers as he gestures down to them, smirking over at Stiles.

"Whenever you're ready. I'm not about to turn down an eager, sweet mouth."

* * *

Why would Stiles stay pliant and obedient when the option _not to_ is there? He may be in a Heat and he may be radiating slutness to the max, but Stiles still had his personality intact. Mostly. It's just been layered over with extreme horniness. Fun times...

Minus the fact that Stiles can see Pervert-Santa out of the corner of his eye watching them. Stiles has heard of people being into voyeurism, but the dude isn't even fapping - which Stiles is definitely glad for because that'd be awkward to have a stranger be getting off on _them_ getting off. But in some way the supernatural creature _is_ because it's asked for this.

Magical-Pervert wants this - wants _them_ to become free of their shackles or repression. Stiles can't remember the exact wording but it's bullshit.

Although... _This_ is apparently what it's taken for them to fucking finally do something, so maybe Stiles should thank the guy.

Actually, no. Screw that dude for messing with them and sticking Stiles with a Heat.

At least he has better things to focus on - like the bright blue glint of Peter's supernatural eyes before they dim. Getting to see and touch and taste Peter's Alpha cock that's going to knot him has Stiles almost vibrating with anticipation. Once Peter is free of his jeans and settled back against a mound of pillows like a king (or a diva), Stiles makes his move.

He doesn't settle down on his stomach between Peter's legs. No, what Stiles does is crawl on his hands and knees _over_ top of Peter's crotch but purposely has his ass toward Peter's face. Peter had so much to say about his wetness, why not let him see it? Stiles is quick to pull out Peter's big cock through the fly of his boxers (because apparently Peter doesn't want to get naked for some reason). Both hands wrap around the thick base as Stiles' head leans down and his ass stays up. He inhales the musky scent before getting to work at licking long stripes over Peter's cock, wetting it in the process.

* * *

Peter knows that he looks good, and with Stiles as desperate as he is, why _not_ give him a treat? Peter watches as Stiles drinks in his position, and Peter does half-expect Stiles to lower himself down between Peter's lazily spread legs. If Stiles wants to suck him, it's the perfect positioning for it.

Except Stiles doesn't settle himself down. Instead, much to Peter's mutual interest and surprise, Stiles _turns around_ and then eases himself back. Peter has a single moment of confusion before he understands, and when Stiles' knees have come to rest on either side of his arms, Peter's gaze darkens with arousal. This close, he can smell the heady sweetness of Stiles' slick, can feel his mouth practically watering at how close Stiles is.

Stiles doesn't lower himself down. He doesn't push Peter to actually _do_ something, and Peter realizes with some amusement that Stiles is trying to tease him. Peter watches a drop of slick slide down Stiles' bare thigh, and suddenly Peter's less concerned with Stiles getting Peter's cock out. Instead, he waits until he feels Stiles' clever fingers free him from his boxers, waits until he feels those first few kittenish licks - that soon turn into long licks that have Peter groaning low in his throat - and then Peter moves.

He frees his arms from between Stiles' legs and instead uses them to reach around. One hand settles on Stiles' hip, and the other makes a point to spread Stiles' cheeks enough to _see_ the pink, puffy, slick hole there. He breathes in, sampling the aroma.

"That's it, Stiles. Drink your fill. I know _I'm_ going to." It's the only warning that Stiles gets before Peter's grip on his hip tightens and Peter _jerks_ Stiles' lower half down.

Given Stiles' position, Peter doesn't need to keep him spread. He winds both of his arms around Stiles' hips to keep him pinned (regardless of what _he_ wants) and with a low growl, Peter leans up and licks a long, hot stripe up one of Stiles' inner thighs. Sweetness and _want_ burst over his tongue as he samples Stiles' slick, and were these different circumstances, Peter might have teased more. As it's not, he feels no shame in the way that he immediately turns his attention to the source, licking hot and greedy over Stiles' hole.

* * *

It's shameless taunting and teasing. There's no doubt in Stiles' mind that Peter's aware of what Stiles is doing and what he wants. This is Stiles' attempt to even the playing field because Peter's been teasing him about how affected Stiles is and how much he wants it, but Stiles knows he's not alone. Peter's dick - much larger than his - had been hard and stiff even before Stiles got it out.

It's now he briefly wonders if his dick is _overly_ small compared to other Omegas or how Peter's cock compares to other Alphas because Stiles has only done some stuff with Betas, so how would he know?

Peter's definitely not going to be the one he asks.

It doesn't matter because as Stiles' begins to lick up Peter's hard length, Peter re-adjusts and spreads him open. Being exposed like this - glistening hole on display - it's both a little embarrassing and arousing. Yeah, Stiles has wanted Peter for a while, but this is like 0 to 100. It may be a rush to be thrown into the deep end, but it's also slightly nerve-wracking.

But those nerves quickly dissipate when Peter speaks up, encouraging, and yanks his ass down. But Peter doesn't go for his dripping hole, no, Peter's arms wrap around his waist, securing that Stiles can't get away. Peter begins licking up the wetness that's ran down his thigh. Stiles' own oral pursuit falters because Peter's tongue is _so_ close and Stiles wants to be licked and eaten out with a fierceness that almost scares him.

When Peter's tongue _does_ lick over his hole, Stiles whines and strains, trying to push back against Peter's tongue. It also renews his own interest and he throws himself into opening his mouth wide to take the swollen head of Peter's cock in and suck hard as he begins to push himself to take as much as he can.

* * *

There's something so addicting in that whine that Stiles lets out. It's thin and reedy and needy, and Peter feels a rush of something that feels uncomfortably like possessiveness surge in his chest as he locks Stiles in place with his arms. He feels Stiles trying to push back, feels how badly he _needs_ , but Peter holds him there as he licks long, hot stripes over Stiles' hole, feeling its give, feeling the need there.

Before he can do anything else, Peter cuts himself off with a sudden groan, his hips half-lifting before he catches himself. Stiles licking over his cock is one thing, but the way that Stiles' mouth just opens and soft lips wrap around the head of Peter's cock to suck is quite another. It's sudden warmth and suction and Peter stills as Stiles takes him in deeper than Peter had expected him to be able to. It's a clear desire to give back, to prove that _he_ can give Peter everything right back. Peter can't fault him.

It's not sex in any way that will sate Stiles' heat, but that's fine. Peter might be hyper-aware of the deity watching them, but his focus remains on Stiles as he leans up and presses a wet, sucking kiss to Stiles' dripping hole.

"That's it," Peter encourages, voice lower, a little rougher. "Just like that. Such a sweet mouth on you, Stiles." Peter closes his eyes, basking in the sensation of soft lips wrapped around his cock. Fuck, but it's been too long since he's had this, and Stiles is a quick study.

Peter isn't a selfish Alpha, though. While he _could_ leave Stiles to it, he doesn't. Stiles' scent is just begging to be indulged, and as Peter lays there, reclined, he feels a drop of slick land on his lips. He chases the taste, honestly amazed at how wet Stiles is.

"You're just _dripping_ with it, aren't you? So desperate for more," Peter says smoothly, and then he leans up again, pressing a sucking kiss to Stiles' hole before fucking into it with his tongue.

* * *

It's all a wet messy affair, but not-so-secretly Stiles loves it. Why should sex be neat and clean anyway? Now, maybe Stiles is just thinking this because he happens to be the one creating all the wet mess with his slick and come but he can't help it. He's primed and ready to go, okay. He can hardly be blamed for what his hormones are doing to him. Well, his hormones _and_ Peter. Without Peter here to touch him and eventually give him what he needs, Stiles would be absolutely miserable.

It's not worth thinking about, because right now he has Peter's entire focus and Stiles isn't about to just roll over like a bitch. He's going to prove how multi-talented his mouth really is.

Or at least Stiles is going to try because he's still marveling at Peter's Alpha dick, at the thickness and length and Stiles has never had such a big cock in his hand or his mouth. But he likes it and it's thrilling to think (know) that Peter is going to fuck him with it later and Stiles is going to be stuffed full and knotted--

But for now he stuffs his mouth full of Peter's dick, uncaring if his throat is beginning to protest. Stiles' hands remain wrapped around the base. Oh, it's difficult to concentrate on doing this when Peter's lips are kissing obscenely at his wet hole, but Stiles is nothing but determined as he begins to bob his head. There's no shame in Peter commenting about how _wet_ he is because frankly, Stiles doesn't know if it's a lot or not for Omegas. It's not as if he's ever asked or talked to other Omegas about this kind of thing nor will he. It's no one else's business.

Stiles momentarily loses any remaining focus as Peter's tongue pushes into him. He cries out, but it's rather muffled given his busy mouth. He's pushing back eagerly against Peter's worming tongue, seeking more of the sensation as he moans around Peter's dick, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks hard.

* * *

There's definitely something here. Peter's been aware of it for months, perhaps longer - far longer than is likely acceptable to admit - but as he spreads Stiles' cheeks wide and licks into his hole, he has to admit that this is something he's been looking forward to. The circumstances are still infuriating and Peter is absolutely going to get even later, but for now, his senses clouded with Stiles' slick scent, he doesn't care as much about their voyeur.

Besides, Stiles is proving to be just as eager as Peter had hoped he would be. Peter doesn't need to see the look on Stiles' face to know that Stiles is impressed at the size of his cock. Beyond that, though, the _feeling_ of Stiles' soft lips wrapped around his dick is perfect. Stiles sucks like someone's going to take it away from him, like this is the one and only time that he'll ever be allowed this. Peter feels the prickle of need burn in the back of his throat as Stiles sucks him down, all wet heat and eager suction.

Peter lifts his hips only once or twice, feeling Stiles' throat almost convulse, and the desire to choke Stiles on his dick _is_ there, but he's not going to do it now. Stiles would do most anything now, and that's a little too far for a heat-drunk Omega.

It doesn't stop Peter from eating Stiles out with equal fervor, though. It doesn't stop him from sucking Stiles' hole until it's flushed pretty pink under his lips. It doesn't stop Peter from fucking into him with his tongue until he's wet with more than his own slick. And it definitely doesn't stop Peter from growling low and reaching down between Stiles' spread legs.

Stiles is still hard when Peter's hand wraps around his cock again. Peter squeezes but doesn't stroke. He _wants_ Stiles to struggle, to feel the friction, to come all over himself helplessly as many times as Peter can make him.

* * *

Just like their current predicament, the angle isn't the best for Stiles to give Peter head, but he tries. His Heat thrums, the singular desire to get fucked and knotted there, but for now, Stiles puts that on the back burner, so to speak. He wants it - desperately - but this is also good. Peter's dick is hard and hot and Stiles isn't even annoyed when Peter's hips lift and force him to gag.

Gagging isn't entirely pleasant, but it's kinda hot in that dirty, debauched way. And anyway, it likely feels really good for Peter to have his throat tightening and spasming around it. Stiles' hands remain clasped around the base of Peter's cock and he breathes furiously through his nose, trying to get enough air while not pulling off.

Peter's mouth and tongue are relentless and it's still not nearly enough. His hole feels swollen with need, fluttering greedily around Peter's tongue. Stiles can feel how wet he is - his slick mixing with Peter's saliva and his thighs shake. That shaking only intensifies when Peter's hand reaches between his legs and grasps onto his cock.

A rather undignified muffled cry is heard as Stiles' mind momentarily goes haywire. He has the urge to try and fuck his hips forward to get Peter to stroke him, but _also_ to push back against Peter's mouth. Frustrated, Stiles tries to do one and then the other as best he can. He's sucking fiercely, groaning as spit leaks out the sides of his mouth, but Stiles doesn't give a shit. He's awash in sensations and hunger and he's going to come again. Peter's going to make him.

* * *

If there had been a sliver of doubt that Peter would find Stiles _after_ this, it dashes itself the moment that Stiles muffles his cry around Peter's cock and he greedily starts to work his hips. Peter doesn't stop him from fucking forward into Peter's fist, and he definitely doesn't stop Stiles from pushing himself back onto Peter's tongue. It's the very _picture_ of need, of desperation, and Peter wants to see this again.

He wants to feel the tight squeeze of Stiles' throat around his dick, wants to work Stiles up to begging, wants to wring every last orgasm possible out of him until he comes dry and over-sensitive. Granted, that train of thought _might_ have something to do with Stiles' pheromones clouding Peter's senses, but he doubts it. He wants what he wants.

And right now, their little voyeuristic deity be damned (hopefully literally), Peter wants Stiles to come.

He lets Stiles' rhythm break, lets him jerk and twist and push desperately - because the suction and vibration and _perfection_ of Stiles' mouth around Peter's dick cannot be overstated - but the moment that Stiles' hole begins to clench, Peter takes over.

He wrenches Stiles back, slick and saliva dripping down Peter's chin as he buries his tongue in Stiles' hole and fucks as quick as he can. Peter's hand strokes Stiles' cock quickly, spreading the precome around and focusing on it pointedly. Even without words, the message is clear: _he wants to feel Stiles' pretty little cock come all over him_.

* * *

Normally Stiles would be worried about giving Peter ammunition to tease him later. Like, Stiles would be considering how loud or pushy he's being and how that'd likely add fuel to Peter's raging fire of an ego. Not that Peter has boasted about his sexual prowess _before_ this, but Stiles has certainly seen some expressions from Peter that seem to indicate that Peter thinks he's a veritable sex god.

Right now Peter _is_ and Stiles doesn't think it's just because of his Heat. Everything Peter does is confident and skilled and Stiles' brain feels like it's short-circuiting because it's intense and he simultaneously wants more and he _also_ thinks he might need a break and for it to stop.

Peter doesn't stop. Peter doesn't stop _him_ from pushing back - at least he doesn't at first. Stiles doesn't know how long he's able to wiggle around like a sex-depraved maniac, but when he feels another impending orgasm, Peter is suddenly forceful. Stiles is yanked back and he can't actually move his hips anymore. Peter's tongue spears into him ruthlessly, fast and hungry and Stiles' cock is sensitive as Peter's hand works it.

Momentarily, Stiles doesn't do anything with Peter's cock. He can't focus on bobbing his head or sucking. And then he's actually jerking and choking himself on Peter's cock as his body spasms, hole clenching around Peter's sinful tongue as his cock spurts weakly, pleasure slamming into him as he comes. The not being able to breathe thing is a problem for later. Stiles' moans are muffled as his throat convulses.

* * *

Peter knows exactly what he's doing as he drags Stiles in closer. He knows what he wants as Stiles' legs fall further apart, as he goes rigid with pleasure and seems to struggle with the idea of what to do. For one blissful moment, Stiles doesn't move, the suction going lax, his body trembling under Peter's hands. Then, just as Peter fucks deeper into Stiles' hole with his tongue, he feels a rush of tight, hot pleasure as Stiles takes Peter's cock down into his throat.

Peter's not sure if Stiles _means_ to, but the groan that rumbles from Peter's throat is rough and appreciative. Stiles' throat clenches and spasms; he's gagging himself, and Peter only just resists the urge to thrust up into that delicious tightness. He doesn't want to _actually_ hurt Stiles, though. The entire pack would kill him. So, growling low, Peter holds Stiles tighter, and when he comes with a desperate moan, Peter tastes the rush of slick and doesn't pull away until Stiles is shaking and sensitive.

He draws it out for as long as he can, but when he's beginning to worry about Stiles _breathing_ , Peter eases back and reaches down. He threads his fingers into Stiles' hair and pulls him up, enough so that Stiles can breathe, even if Peter's cock gives a twitch of protest. Fuck, but he could bury himself in Stiles' throat no problem. Peter had always known that Stiles would be good with his mouth.

"There's a good boy," Peter praises silkily. "I'd give you a treat, but I think I already have."

Peter glances down between them, at the come dripping down his abdomen, thinner than his own, but no less enticing. And, though reluctantly, he slowly lets Stiles' knees come back to the bed as he reaches up and presses two of his fingers to Stiles' hole, stroking over it slowly and dipping both fingers inside. Peter wets his lips, chasing the taste of Stiles' slick.

"You could probably take my knot right now if I let you. _If_ ," Peter adds, smirking lazily. "I wonder how many times I could make you come before you started begging me for my knot..."

* * *

God, it might be his second orgasm but it's still intense. Stiles shakes, his hole twitching around Peter's tongue as his cock tries its best to ejaculate what it can. He can feel himself gush slick and if Stiles was more with it he'd like the idea of getting Peter's face all wet and dirty. But as he is - high on his orgasm and with Peter's dick stuffed down his throat, Stiles isn't thinking about much. He feels wrung out and weak, his body buzzing faintly and despite the pleasure of his orgasm, there's still a growing, pressing need deep inside of him.

Stiles _needs_ to be knotted. It's the only thing that will stop this.

This - his raging Heat - and this bizarre fuck-or-die situation that they're in. Christ, what a weird life he lives.

The not-being-able-to-breathe-easily thing does become a problem once Stiles' dazed pleasure starts to calm. Wet eyed, Stiles blinks quickly and tries to get his body to move - but it's Peter that actually yanks his hair, pulling Stiles' head back and off of Peter's cock. Stiles sputters, coughing as his throat relaxes and he tries to breathe again. Peter's words barely register - something about a treat - but Stiles' brain is still coming back online, thanks. He takes full breaths, his pulse still rabbit-quick and his hands tremble as they move off of Peter's big Alpha dick.

He's boneless as Peter shifts him but Stiles quickly finds himself reacting when fingers pet over his hole and then push into him. Stiles keens, strung out but still so needy. This time, Peter's words _do_ process and his wet cock gives a futile twitch.

"Please, fuck-- give it to me," Stiles whines. The idea of Peter making him come _more_ while making him wait is... It's both pleasant and unpleasant, but Peter fucking him is one step closer to getting knotted and satisfied so Stiles focuses on that.

* * *

It occurs to Peter that he really could do _anything_ to Stiles right now. Stiles would gladly take it. Were Peter to imply that he wanted it, Stiles would likely gladly choke on his cock, or sit on his knot, or let Peter play with his cock until he couldn't handle it anymore. It's a powerful feeling and one that Peter acutely wishes was happening in his own bed back in his apartment, not on display for a supernatural deity.

It's almost more unnerving that the god - whoever he is - isn't visibly getting off on this. Whenever Peter chances a look, the man is seated there, looking placid and pleased, as though watching two favorite pets splash around in a backyard pool. Peter redoubles his vow to rip the guy's throat out, but not until he's _thoroughly_ given Stiles enough reason to come back to him later.

And it looks as though he's succeeding. Just listening to Stiles - to the dazed way he comes back to himself, and to the way that he almost immediately starts to beg for Peter's knot - is enough to tell him that Stiles will be back. The plaintive whine is so sweet that Peter considers bringing Stiles off with his tongue again just to see if he could get him to come again that way, but he doesn't actually want to drive Stiles into genuine pain. Not now, at least.

Besides, Peter thinks he knows a way that the both of them can get what they want. Stiles had begged so prettily, after all. It'd be a shame to make him wait too much longer.

"I suppose I could be persuaded," Peter allows, reluctantly drawing his hand back, sliding his fingers free. Stiles is more than wet enough to take him. "Why don't you get into position? Face down, on your knees. Show me how much you want it."


	2. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teehee, enjoy the wrap up... 💦💦💦 😈

* * *

* * *

Okay, fine, Stiles is begging like a bitch, but he can't help it. He'd said he was at an eight before, but that couldn't have been right. If that was an eight, Stiles feels like he's somewhere around a seventeen now and he's pretty worried that this isn't even as bad as it _could_ get. It might get worse. It could get worse. He hopes it doesn't get worse.

Stiles doesn't want worse. He's sweaty and wet and he's burning up and despite already coming his brains out, he's uncomfortable. Need is tight and coiled like a spring pushed down and Stiles wants to fucking go off.

Needs to go off. But he's at Peter's mercy here. There's no knotted dildo to simulate the act. There's just a Pervert-Santa watching them. A sluggish part in Stiles' brain wants to look up and see what the fucker is doing - to try and figure this shit out - but he can't look away from Peter and Stiles knows his mind isn't in working order to figure out anything anyway.

As soon as Stiles hears ' _get into position'_ leave Peter's mouth, he's scrambling to comply. Wobbly legged, he shuffles up onto his knees and turns around so his ass is facing Peter. It does burn a little to rest on his forearms and lower his head while lifting his ass up like a treat waiting to be gobbled up. Stiles spreads his legs, spent cock hanging half hard. He can feel how wet he is, hole stretched, swollen and waiting and all he can hope is that Peter finally gets to it.

* * *

If there's one thing that Peter regrets about this whole thing, it's that he can't _thoroughly_ enjoy it the way he would were they alone. True, he's taken a few liberties and pushed Stiles in ways he hadn't intended, but when Peter considers the possibilities, the reality still falls woefully short. He doesn't doubt that - in his own bed, in his apartment - he could have made Stiles come quite a bit more. Taking him apart, learning every inch, and breaking only to perhaps draw a bath and then eat him out there as well... there are a lot of possibilities and little opportunity now. That will change, though.

Stiles hastens to scramble into position, and Peter drinks in the sight of him. Stiles wobbles a little as he settles himself into the lordosis position and Peter basks in his own satisfaction at the sight of it. Stiles is only unsteady due to _Peter_ , and he drinks up that fact like a fine wine. He's always had good tastes.

Yet even as Stiles settles, his ass lifted, his hole swollen and puffy and wet with slick, Peter can't help but drink in the picture that he makes. Peter can see the slick dripping down his thighs, and his half-hard cock hanging between his legs. He's tempted to take it back into his mouth, to push Stiles even further, but that will be for later. For now, Peter hums his appreciation as he pushes his jeans and boxers down, and when he reaches over and cups Stiles' balls in his hand, Peter smirks to himself.

"You look good enough to eat. As I believe I demonstrated," Peter praises. "You're practically _dripping_ , and not just slick. Your pretty little cock is all wet too... I can't help but wonder how tempting you'd look in lingerie. Something that would show how wet I make you. Something that would make your cock look even prettier. Lace, perhaps."

It's a thought for later. One that Peter intends to honor if he can help it. He wets his lips, appreciative, and then eases close enough to take his cock in hand and rub the thick head of it over Stiles' hole.

"Something for later. For now, I assume you want something a little more... tangible, hmm?"

* * *

Stiles wants to be bothered by how quick he's shuffled into this position for Peter, but hey, raging Sahara desert-like Heat, okay. Coming had felt good, but it'd done absolutely nothing to satisfy Stiles' Heat. It's almost like coming that way had actually pointed to a big neon sign stating: _NOT ENOUGH, NEED KNOT_. It's beyond irritating, to be strangled by persistent _fuck me_ feels because Stiles doesn't like being controlled by his biology.

Too bad his biology doesn't give a fuck and now he's here. It's going to be beyond weird to have to face Peter after this. The pseudo flirting had been safe and fun and neither one of them had seemed to want to be seen as giving in. Now they've been forced to give in. Stiles' Heat may be pushing everything forward and ramping things up, but Stiles has a feeling that doing nasty sex stuff with Peter would be good without it too.

Peter's hand reaches between his legs and Stiles' back arches a little as fingers skim over his balls. It's not what he wants - not what he needs - but before he can protest, Peter muses about _lingerie_. Lingerie on _him_. As in _panties_. So Peter could see how wet he gets. Something to make his cock look prettier. _Lace_.

A sort of mortification flushes through him because on one hand it's absolutely ridiculous and embarrassing, and on the other, Stiles is kinda curious and turned on by it. His dick twitches and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, unsure how to respond or what to say. He's never worn them, of course. Has had no reason to wear them. Lingerie on females is nice - from the sweeter frilly Omegan-types to the more severe and sexy Alpha-styles, but--

His confusion is immediately cleared up when Peter shuffles closer and the hot, blunt end of Peter's dick kisses against his hole. Stiles immediately jolts back to push and encourage Peter's dick inside of him. It's impolite behavior for Omega, but whatever. Desperate times and all and he's definitely desperate.

* * *

Stiles would look absolutely fetching in lingerie, Peter decides as he leans over Stiles and drinks in the sight of him. Nothing on his chest, but panties? Peter's not about to go overboard and imagine Stiles in any of the questionable garments often made for Omegas of any gender, but something to hug his ass and cup his cock? Something to show how wet he apparently gets? Something to make Stiles smell like the same sweet embarrassment he smells like now? Oh, Peter could definitely get behind that.

But later. Because no sooner does he rub his cockhead against Stiles' dripping hole than Stiles suddenly shoves his hips back. Peter's only half-prepared for it, and he feels the wet, tight, _hot_ sweetness of Stiles' hole grip halfway up the head of his dick before Peter's hand tightens on Stiles' hips and he shoves Stiles back, keeping him at bay. Yet even as Peter growls and forces Stiles down, he can't help a shudder. Looking down, the tip of his cock is wet with Stiles' slick, and the desire to just fuck into him is tempting.

"Now, that wasn't very polite," Peter chides idly, making a point to hold Stiles still as he carefully nudges the head of his cock against Stiles' hole and shallowly presses it in, just enough to feel the stretch and the heat but not enough to give Stiles what he wants.

"By rights, I _should_ make you beg for it after that, but considering the circumstance, I suppose it's understandable. You _are_ going to be a handful."

Which is the only warning that Stiles gets before Peter presses in slowly but steadily. The head of his cock pops into Stiles' body but he doesn't give Stiles time to adjust. Instead, though slowly, Peter nudges his hips forward and pulls Stiles back. Stiles is wet enough that he hardly needs to _do_ anything, and when Peter slides inside in one languid thrust, he can't help the soft, indulgent groan that escapes him.

Stiles is so deliciously wet for him.

* * *

How in the ever fucking crazy supernatural world that exists, has Peter not gone ahead and fucked his brains out yet? This is Stiles' pressing question. This is why Stiles presses back, insistent and demanding, like a kid stomping his feet and having a tantrum. This is all he can do. Maybe it's bad manners, but that's a technicality. This is hardly a usual or ideal getting jiggy situation. Peter isn't his partner. This isn't some arrangement where a professional Alpha is called in to help. This is...

Some bizarre wham-bam Pervy-Santa wants you to bang-and-jam-thing. They've been thrust into this utter insanity and Stiles can't help that his body isn't patient.

Not that he's ever really known for being patient, but yeah.

Maybe something is wrong with him? Peter had said he tasted good and stuff, but Peter has been teasing him and not seeming to be in a rush at all. Which sucks because _everything-_ Peter is getting Stiles going.

Naturally, Peter doesn't let him spear himself back on that nice, big Alpha cock waiting for him. Stiles is pushed forward and he makes a frustrated disgruntled grunt. He'd been so close, his hole beginning to stretch around and welcome Peter's dick, but _noooooo_ , Peter had to go and _be_ a dick instead.

Stiles' hands clutch at the nearest pillow, aggravation evident in his white knuckles. Oh, Stiles wants to cuss Peter the fuck out because now isn't the time to be bringing up politeness and shit, but Stiles bites the insides of his cheeks instead. It's some sliver of self-preservation kicking in because if he can stay quiet and behave surely Peter will--

Peter barely nudges against him and Stiles whines, pulse jumping. Peter wants him to beg? Hasn't he been begging enough? Stiles can't answer his own question because Peter _finally_ advances, cockhead eagerly swallowed by Stiles. Stiles pants as Peter guides him back, hands pulling on Stiles' hips and given how wet he is, it's no problem for Peter to bottom out.

It's still pressure and fullness, still tight because Peter's dick is sizable, but it's perfect.

"God, please. Please fuck me," Stiles hisses, no longer concerned about the begging thing. He purposely clenches around Peter's cock and wiggles as best he can to get Peter going.

* * *

Controlled as Peter is despite everything, not even he can pretend that feeling the gripping wet heat around his dick isn't practically sinful. Bottoming out is enough to make his eyes glint blue, but as Stiles is turned away from him, it's not like he can _see_ it. It suits Peter just fine, and it gives him a few moments to recollect himself as he basks in the feeling of Stiles' body searing and sweet around him.

At least that's what Peter is _intending_ , but the reality doesn't quite match up. Stiles - ever the one to break the mold and forge his own path - might not be able to push back against Peter the way that he had, but Peter has no control over Stiles' internal muscles. Which Stiles proves so beautifully - with such _cunning_ \- that Peter is honestly impressed even as he feels a surge of arousal that he needs to bite back. He hisses sharply between his teeth, and it's truly a miracle that he even _has_ self-control, because any lesser Alpha would have damned the consequences and gone for it.

As it is, Peter is tempted. He can feel his bangs stuck to his forehead, can feel the tremble in his arms as he holds Stiles close, and when Stiles starts to squirm, Peter growls low and leans over him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notes that the damn deity is still watching, placid, smiling almost jovially, and Peter bites back a growl at _him_ as he slides one of his hands up to the back of Stiles' neck and presses him down against the bed harder.

" _You_ ," Peter growls, "are _supremely_ lucky that I have enough self-control to not give you what you think you want." As if to punctuate that, Peter draws his hips back and thrusts back in once, sharp, _hard_ , almost punishing. He breathes out roughly between his teeth.

"But I'll give you what you _need_. Don't doubt that. Just keep in mind that no matter how much of a _beautiful_ slut you are, I can still hurt you irreparably."

But, perhaps to soothe the potential sting from the last thrust, when Peter finally does as Stiles wants, he isn't gentle with it, but he isn't bruising. He fucks up into Stiles' wet heat, shuddering at the intensity of the sensation.

* * *

In retaliation of Stiles' ass-dick squeeze, Peter shoves his head down and fucks into him _hard._ Stiles gasps at the intensity of it, almost feeling winded. Given that he's only used a dildo before and given his range of motion and strength, Stiles hasn't ever been fucked quite so hard. He thinks he could get used to it. Maybe.

But another thrust doesn't come because Peter is warning him.

Oh, right. _Werewolf_. Peter is also a werewolf and he has stupid perks like increased strength and speed. Peter could potentially hurt him. It should worry Stiles - there's nothing sexy about _irreparable_ _hurt -_ but maybe it's the threat? Maybe it's the hint of danger, like looking over a high ledge or playing with fire.

Because obviously Stiles doesn't want to be fucked or manhandled (wolfhandled) into a messy human pulp. So far he's liked Peter's roughness, but there's obviously some ceiling to that. Is it weird that it's _Peter_ who's bringing up caution? Maybe not, because if Peter were to seriously hurt him, Scott and Derek would kick Peter's ass. Peter is just looking after himself. Nothing new, no funny business.

Being called a _beautiful slut_ is kinda new, however. Stiles should probably not like it, but he does. At least right now. Stiles isn't actively wiggling or squeezing anymore. He doesn't want to piss off Peter. Perhaps as a reward, Peter draws back and thrusts right back in. Stiles' dick twitches, taking interest and hardening right back up. All he wants is Peter to ram into him and again and again until Peter knots him.

"I'd say I'm sorry," Stiles begins babbling, "but 'm not really. Can't help it. I need it. You know I do."

* * *

It should probably be a warning sign that Stiles' first response to that harder thrust is to gasp. Peter doesn't need his enhanced senses to feel that Stiles' body likes the roughness, and he does silently file that away in the back of his mind. Not for now, not when he could feasibly lose himself to warm, wet tightness and hurt Stiles for real, but perhaps for later, when he has slightly more control over himself.

Because it's painfully clear that Stiles likes it rough. Perhaps it's just his heat talking, maybe he doesn't actually like it like this on normal days, but he definitely likes it now. To his credit, the harder thrust does seem to get through to him, and while Stiles gasps, he doesn't push back or try to speed Peter along. Instead, he stills obediently, and when Peter fucks back into him a little easier, Stiles' scent spikes even higher in arousal. It's heady and sweet and Peter growls low in his throat, a rumbling, pleased sound.

"Yes, I know you need it," he grits back out, because despite his control, Stiles' body feels _amazing_ , his hole tight and wet around Peter's dick. "But you'll get it on _my_ terms. Just keep yourself relaxed, Stiles. Let me show you."

 _What_ Peter is going to show him, he leaves up in the air. But when Peter eases his hips back and then thrusts back into Stiles' heat with a wet, slick sound, it hardly matters. Peter moves shallowly until he feels as though Stiles can handle him properly, but when he sets up a rhythm, he doesn't treat Stiles like he's made of glass. Stiles' body needs something animalistic and frenzied and Peter is only too happy to oblige.

He fucks into Stiles' hole, feeling Stiles' body move to accommodate him, and Peter moves to angle his hips. This isn't about drawing it out; this is about getting Stiles off as many times as he can. So he doesn't wait to fuck in deep, searching for the proper angle to hit Stiles' prostate.

* * *

It's not exactly easy to be at Peter's mercy here. Yeah, Stiles has been attracted to Peter for a while now and yeah he's in a Heat and Peter's an Alpha. Things are going the way they're _supposed_ to be going, but that doesn't mean Stiles completely _likes_ that Peter's the one in control and calling the shots. On one hand it _is_ hot. Stiles can admit it. He's wondered and fantasized about Peter over the years and now it's like being thrown right into the fray... But on the other hand it's infuriating because Peter isn't the kind of guy Stiles _wants_ to trust. Trust to look after him? Trust with his well-being? Trust to satisfy his Heat?

But this is where Stiles finds himself. Neither of them asked to be put into this situation and they're doing the best they can. At least Stiles thinks that. Maybe Peter isn't known for touchy-feely self-sacrifice for the pack, but Peter is rather passionate about saving his own ass. And in this circumstance, fucking Stiles' ass will do that. How ironic.

Peter fucking into him is finally on the right track to getting knotted and having his Heat chill the fuck out. When Peter talks, even Stiles can hear how affected he is. Peter's voice is tighter, lower and it only adds fuel to the fire. Peter's words? His direction-slash-order? Stiles bites back the, ' _bossy_ _bitch_ ' comment that really wants to come out. Now isn't the time.

Besides, the fucking quickly gets better and Stiles' protests die down. As best as he can - as much as Peter allows - Stiles meets his thrusts. Panting into the pillow, when Peter manages to fuck into him just right, the surprised moan is mostly muffled. Mostly. Stiles stops pushing back, body feeling weak and energized at the same time. He shakes, unable to do anything as Peter ruthlessly nails his prostate again and again. Toes curling and fingers scratching at the mattress, Stiles barely registers that he's coming, cock drooling feebly underneath him.

* * *

Admittedly, Peter is doing this mostly to stay alive and free, but as he fucks into Stiles' hole and feels each delicious clench around his cock, not even he can pretend that he hasn't embellished this a bit. After all, fucking and knotting Stiles would have been enough to do it. That Peter's pushed it further and has focused on Stiles' pleasure and his own ego is icing on the cake, so to speak. Besides... maybe Peter hasn't dealt with deities before, but he's more than aware _of_ them, and very rarely do deities expect precisely what they're asking. They always want more. Peter isn't hedging his bets.

It doesn't hurt that Stiles feels practically sinful around him. It's certainly not a chore to be feeling him like this, and as Peter gets to it and feels the way that Stiles' body opens to him so willingly, he has to admit that he really does regret that this isn't happening on his terms, in _his_ bed.

Stiles reacts so perfectly. Perhaps he wouldn't every time; Peter _does_ know that the Heat is likely causing a fair bit of it here. Yet as Peter drives into Stiles' body and listens to him moan and gasp, he suspects that it would be even better with Stiles' attitude. As perfect as a willing hole is, a hole with no personality holds no interest for him.

So, able to feel the way Stiles' body shakes, feeling the way he squirms and gasps, high on stimulation, Peter braces himself over Stiles and fucks him properly. He doesn't relent, and when he feels Stiles' hole begin to clench down, he snaps his hips forward, fucking into Stiles' heat until he comes, and _fuck_ if it isn't a perfect feeling.

Peter groans roughly in the back of his throat, feeling the tight squeeze and rhythmic clenching against his dick. He feels the first swellings of his knot, but before he can be tempted, he draws his hips back until the head of his cock is the only thing in Stiles' body. Peter finally lets Stiles go, petting one hand over his back, slower, appreciative.

"There you go," he says, half-praise, half-smug, "good boy. Just ride that one out and let me hear you."

* * *

Stiles' hole spasms and clenches, desperately trying to entice Peter's cock to knot him. Prostate orgasms are different, but unbelievably sensitive and intense and it's no different now. Stiles' entire body is relishing in being fucked open by Peter, jittery pleasure sparking through him and right into his cock as it weakly twitches, determined to remain involved as it can.

Stiles thinks, for a moment, that Peter's knot is going to swell and finally this can be over and done with, but it doesn't happen. It doesn't fucking happen! Peter slides his dick almost out and Stiles is hit with such an ugly feeling of deprivation and anguish that he wants to honestly cry.

Guys can cry. He's cried before, but he doesn't want to cry _now_ and with Peter present and he definitely doesn't want to cry over _not_ getting knotted.

It becomes pretty damn obvious what Peter wants and is going to do. Peter wants to draw things out and watch and hear _him_ get off while denying him. Despite his realization and the discomfort from not getting knotted, it still feels good. Stiles feels winded despite not having actually done anything but take it. What Stiles can do is purposefully bury his face into the pillow and not give Peter what he wants. It's beyond frustrating to be frustrated and denied but still feel amazing and horny.

Stiles doesn't want to give Peter a show. Instead, he mutters a, ' _fucking asshole_ ' mantra to himself.

* * *

Peter is expecting the flood of frustration, of Stiles' Heat-addled brain not understanding what he's trying to do, but what he's _not_ expecting is the other undercurrent to Stiles' scent. Stiles smells frustrated and desperate, his scent hotter with anger, yes, but _under_ that anger is a scent rather akin to despondency. Which is surprising, yes, but ultimately understandable. It doesn't make it any less irritating, because not even Peter is immune to the pang of distress that rolls off an Omega while _genuinely_ upset.

Any other time, he wouldn't care, but this is _directly_ related to him. He wants to satisfy Stiles completely, not upset him. Not in any way that might do actual damage or cause _real_ emotional harm.

Peter narrows his eyes, still breathing a little hard, and a flicker of frustration burns in his own chest, but to his credit, he doesn't let it last more than a few seconds before he's moving. His posture doesn't soften, but he _does_ ease down, leaning over Stiles' body to press his chest to Stiles' back, arms bracing beside him to bring them closer.

"Stiles," Peter says, his voice lower, because he doesn't actually want the damn god to hear _this_. This close, he can hear Stiles' furious little mutterings and his scent is awash with confusion and desperation and something close to hurt that Peter doesn't want anywhere _near_ Stiles right now. He's still an Alpha, and driving an Omega to distress isn't something to feel prideful about.

"Stiles, stop hiding. I'm not going to leave you like this. I just don't want to rush this. This is your first Heat; if you think I'm going to do _anything_ less than satisfy you completely, you've got another thing coming. But," Peter adds, lower, and nudges his hips forward to sink his cock into Stiles' body. He doesn't move, just keeps himself still. "If you'd rather I just knot you and be done with it, that can be arranged. I just assumed you'd want a _good_ time."

* * *

It's beyond embarrassing to be getting upset about _only_ getting off because he can't actually hide anything from Peter. As an Alpha, Peter world be aware of a distressed Omega, and as a werewolf, Peter's able to discern the chemosignals he's giving off. Emotions mess up judgment - Stiles knows that - but he can't help that he's all emotional and hormonal because of his Heat and the particular situation he's in.

He's trying to think back to what Peter's said or promised him in this, but it's difficult to recollect specifics. Does Pervy-Santa even know what he's done here? The dude hadn't said for Peter to knot him - it'd been something surrounding liberation..? Propaganda bullshit, probably. Stiles doesn't think there had been a set of specific conditions that needed to be met for them to get free, but he's not the one thinking clearly and he hasn't for a while.

Stiles can't think clearly when he's all worked up and Peter's playing at whatever--

Stiles tenses when Peter leans down, chest against his back, practically an Alpha blanket over him. The tensing doesn't last long because Stiles' body - traitorous whore that it is - _likes_ the proximity. He stops his muttered out mantra as Peter's voice washes over him, but more than that, it's Peter's words and assurance that he isn't going to leave him desperate and messed up.

Stiles pushes against Peter, back arching up as Peter's cock slips back in - back home. He's got a decision to make - either let Peter not rush this or get knotted ASAP. Stiles really does want to go for the latter option, but there's a bit of a challenge held in Peter's ' _I just assumed you'd want a good time'._

" _Good time_? You can do better than that," Stiles challenges right back, his head lifting off the pillow and looking over his shoulder at Peter the best he can. "But if I say _pineapple_ \- you stop fucking around. Deal?" It's a pseudo safeword - a knot safeword? - but it ensures that Stiles has at least some control over this.

* * *

Peter doesn't necessarily want to stop. As much as he'd like to knot Stiles and ride out the pleasure of it, he doesn't want to leave Stiles less-than-satisfied. It's an Alpha thing, perhaps, but it's also a matter of personal pride. Working Stiles up into a frenzy of pleasure is _much_ more satisfying than merely scratching an itch that any knotted dildo could ease on its own. Peter isn't looking to satisfy Stiles partway. He's looking to make an impression, _but_ not at the expense of Stiles' real distress.

So, he makes his offer. He can tell that Stiles is at least listening, because it doesn't take him long to stop muttering, and when Peter nudges his hips forward, Stiles pushes back greedily. It's a sudden clench of heat around Peter's cock and Peter grunts low in his throat, a half-cursed sound of pleasure as Stiles finally looks back at him, a challenge in his voice.

And _oh_ what a challenge _that_ is. Buried deep in Stiles' slick hole, the desire to just rut into him and fuck the sass out of him _is_ present, but Peter fights it back with a soft exhale. After all, he does enjoy the attitude, and he _intends_ to meet Stiles' expectations.

"I suppose I can agree to that. Deal," Peter promises. "But maybe you should show me _just_ how to satisfy you, hmm? Besides, I want to _see_ you."

It's the only warning that Peter gives before he draws back. Instead of laying down beside Stiles, though, Peter leans back on the bed and reaches over. He effortlessly pulls Stiles away from the pillows and when Peter lays back, he sets Stiles on his lap. This way, Stiles can't see the man watching them, but he _can_ get a nice, good look at Peter's cock, at how thick and flushed and covered with Stiles' slick it is. Peter smirks up at Stiles, lazy.

"Go on. Show me how you like it."

* * *

Is Stiles in a position to be making demands and deals with Peter? Maybe not. Maybe it's not traditional for an Omega either, but Peter isn't exactly known for being traditional anyway and this entire situation isn't traditional. But they're here and it's happening. There isn't anything that can be done about it other than go along with it. Like he is, caught in the middle of a Heat, Stiles can't think up any sort of plan. And Peter hadn't been able to werewolf _hyah!_ attack Pervy-Santa.

So far nothing with Peter has just been _good_ , so Stiles has some sort of expectations here. He thinks it makes sense too. Like Peter's dick, Peter's ego should have no problem rising to the occasion either.

Peter agrees and now that Stiles has assurance that if it gets to be too much, Peter will stop drawing it out and knot him, he feels better. Relieved - at least mentally. His body still wants to get fucked wickedly, but he no longer has to wonder and worry if he'll actually get knotted and this will stop.

At first, it's alarming that Peter pulls out and moves him, but it becomes quickly clear what Peter is setting up for them to do. Peter wants him to be on top. Stiles hesitates only a moment because he doesn't know exactly _how_ he likes it. This is Stiles' first time with an Alpha (which Peter knows). But no time like the present to find out!

Stiles' hole is empty and displeased, wetness traveling down the back of his thighs, but it's Peter's dick that he's looking at. Peter's thick cock is waiting, coated and glistening with Stiles' slick. It's still crazy to think that it fits in him and feels so good, but now isn't the time to wonder about that shit. He's got a job to do.

Stiles scrambles to get into position, squatting over Peter as a hand reaches back between his legs to steady Peter's cock. He licks his lips as he lowers himself down until the tip of Peter's dick touches his hole. Eager to fill himself back up, Stiles wastes no time as he works the thicker head of Peter's cock in. He moves his hand away, opting to place them both palms down on Peter's chest to steady himself. As Stiles sinks down, he watches Peter closely.

* * *

Peter isn't above a little stroking of his ego here and there, and as he watches Stiles climb up on top of him, that's _exactly_ what happens. Just as Stiles focuses hard on Peter's cock, Peter's attention is on Stiles' expression. He smirks lazily to himself as he drinks in the hunger in Stiles' eyes, the need in the way that Stiles moves himself like he's trying to keep himself contained. It's a heady experience, watching someone _want him_ as bad as Stiles very clearly does, but Peter supposes that the opposite is also true.

His cock wouldn't be as hard as it is if he didn't want Stiles with equal fervor. Even as Stiles climbs up on top of Peter's lap, there _is_ a flicker inside that tells Peter to just upend Stiles on his back and fuck into him properly, but he holds himself back. He can control himself, even if there's a very real - likely instinctive - part of him that doesn't want to.

Stiles perching over him is a delicious sight. From where he is, Peter can see the small drops of slick smearing the inside of Stiles' thighs, and watching Stiles reach back and guide Peter's cock until it kisses his hole is thrilling. Slowly, carefully, Stiles works himself down. As much as Peter loves control, there _is_ something enticing about watching Stiles work himself down slowly, especially considering he hasn't done it before.

Still, the moment that Stiles' hands come to Peter's chest, Peter closes his eyes with a lower groan. His hips roll up just once, a little reward of sorts, but he doesn't rush it. He knows what he's going to do, but watching Stiles take him in is perfect. Peter opens his eyes to admire the way Stiles' cock is still drooling with need, and as Stiles' ass comes to rest against Peter's hips, Peter reaches over and thumbs Stiles' cock, smearing the come around fondly.

"I must say, I really do appreciate this view. How does it feel, Stiles? Do you feel full? Do you feel me even deeper?"

* * *

Stiles has done this with a toy. Suctioned it onto the floor or wall and sat on it. Stiles had been in control of the speed and how deep or shallow he went.

It's different with an actual dick - a _real_ dick - Peter's dick that's already pounded him into coming. Is Peter really giving up control here and now? Stiles isn't sure. It doesn't seem like a very Peter-thing to do, but all Peter does is move his hips up a little. It's not much, but it's still movement and it still helps him bottom out.

To be filled by Peter's cock comes with a wash of relief. Stiles pants, blinking quicker as he adjusts. Not that Peter gives him actual time because Peter reaches out, his thumb rubbing over the sticky tip of his cock. Stiles shudders from sensitivity, his ass clenching around Peter. His own cock persists to be hard and is difficult to focus on Peter's words, but of course Peter _has to_ say something.

"Appreciate the view?" Stiles balks as best he can. "I'm not some tourist attraction."

But Stiles doesn't wait for some response, he lifts himself up and then plops back down on Peter's cock. He's not able to move as fast as Peter, but Stiles still goes for it, his cock bouncing as Stiles happily gets to work on fucking himself on Peter.

* * *

Peter chuckles somewhat breathlessly at Stiles' answer, but as Stiles lifts himself up and then drops back down, he decides against answering. Like this, Stiles can build up into a bit of a rhythm, and even if Stiles _is_ going slower, it still feels wonderful. Besides, as far as Peter is concerned, were the circumstances not what they were - were they alone instead of being watched - he would have taken time to admire Stiles before fucking him. The thought of him standing there, Peter drinking in the sight of him as he drips slick down his thighs is enough to make Peter groan, though he half-bites it back.

Stiles doesn't waste time in going for what he wants, though. He braces himself on Peter's chest and goes for it, bouncing on Peter's cock. Peter basks in the feeling, at the incredible heat and the feeling of Stiles' inner muscles clenching around him every time he tenses as he lifts himself back up. It's a thrilling feeling, but _watching_ Stiles do it makes it all the better.

Letting Stiles go for it, Peter drinks in the moment, thumb idly sliding over Stiles' slit, gathering the messy remnants of come and precome and stroking it around. Yet when Peter begins to feel the itch of instinct in the back of his mind, he decides that he's indulged long enough.

He slides his hands down to Stiles' hips and stops him from coming back down on his next bounce. And, before Stiles can protest, Peter snaps his hips up once, harder, feeling the tight clench of muscle.

He groans, a low, pleased sound, and when he does it again, Peter growls out a low, "be a good boy and grab me a pillow, will you? I want to look at you while I fuck you."

* * *

It's not especially easy to fuck himself down on Peter's dick, but Stiles gives it his best shot. His legs feel weaker than he'd like and it's not like he _wants_ to be some passive mewling Omega who's laying around and writhing to be fucked (and knotted), okay, but Heats are tricky. Heats make _that_ kind of behavior more likely. At least Stiles has heard that's the case and now he's experiencing it himself. Lovely. He's half suspecting Peter to make some comment about him not doing it fast enough or hard enough or _something,_ but Peter doesn't.

Peter watches him with stupidly beautiful eyes and Peter's fingers play with his wet cock (which is distracting and making this _more_ difficult, thanks). But Stiles tries his best to keep up a pace, to lift himself up before slamming back down on Peter's cock. The physical exertion necessary for this only adds to the growing heat within himself. Each time he bottoms out on Peter's dick, Stiles groans.

Without warning, Peter decides to wrest back control. Stiles clenches his jaw, but it doesn't stay clenched for long as Peter's hard thrust follows. Yeah, that's good. And then instruction follows. Peter apparently wants to take the more active role again and Stiles' legs are happy about this change of pace. After a few quicker breaths, Stiles reaches for a pillow and Peter wastes no time in arranging it as he wishes.

"I'm kind of surprised you gave up _any_ amount of control," Stiles comments because he feels like he should say _something._

* * *

Really, Stiles should be thanking him for this. First Heats with a partner are rarely as extensive as Peter is striving for here. On one hand, it's definitely his own indulgence coming out, but on another, he genuinely does want Stiles to have a good first time. Perhaps he's pushing it a little far, and he's _definitely_ teasing and taking advantage where he can, but Peter can justify it simply enough. The deity still watching them has yet to cut in, and every time Peter does something new, every time he pushes Stiles that much further, the beatific smile on the old man's lips widens.

If he's a man set to ensure they give in to their desires, Peter's not taking chances. He wants to get out of this, and he wants Stiles to follow suit. If that means he needs to blow Stiles' mind and push him to his absolute limits, of course he's going to do it.

Still, Peter doesn't miss the tremble in Stiles' legs when Peter takes control back. He accepts the pillow that Stiles hands him, and uses it to prop his own head up - to give himself something to lean against - and as soon as he can see Stiles properly, Peter's hands fall back to Stiles hips.

"One _does_ have to weigh the benefit of control when the alternative is watching someone fuck themselves on your cock," Peter says simply, something lower and a little predatory edging his voice.

He doesn't give any warning before suddenly pulling Stiles down, his own hips lifting to match. If he'd been deep before, it's nothing on this, and Peter groans low, feeling Stiles' slick drip down his own thighs, but feeling that _clench_ around his cock in a different way. Buried this deep, a few good clenches could feasibly get him to knot, so Peter hastens to lift Stiles up and drag him back down.

There's something _hot_ about essentially fucking Stiles on his cock, using Stiles' own body to do it. He makes a point to pull out as many stops as he can, fucking up hard a few times and then grinding in deep enough to get Stiles' eyes sliding half-closed in pleasure.

"You're a natural," Peter praises roughly. "You're taking it so well."

* * *

Stiles really has no idea how partnered first Heats usually go. Sure, he'd learned a bit about it in Sex Ed, but he wasn't exactly paying that much attention. It had hardly seemed important because Stiles knew he'd be swallowing down suppressants his entire life because Heats without an Alpha blow. Stiles didn't want to have to depend on someone's particular anatomy to help him through it and from the one stress-induced Heat he'd gone through, it'd sucked anyway.

This magically-induced Heat with Peter? It's... It's definitely another thing entirely. While Stiles still doesn't like being at Peter's mercy here, he at least has Peter's word that he'll get his knot if and when it gets to be too much. That assurance lessens the overall tension. At least mentally. Physically his body is still worked up, ping-ponging between horny and wanting _moremoremore_ and horny and wanting _knotknotknot_.

Stiles isn't surprised by Peter not giving him any warning. It's a dual sensation this time - Peter pulling him down and then his hips snapping up. And it's deep - so fucking deep - his body shakes, arms loose by his sides, but Peter's got him. What has Stiles' toes curling is the varied pace - hard, snapping thrusts then Peter just burying his thick cock inside and moving his hips a little, providing the feeling of absolute fullness.

The praise stokes the fire and Stiles pants out, "Gonna come again." He focuses on the surging pleasure, pushing back against Peter's dick hungrily.

* * *

Even as Peter fucks up into Stiles, he's planning ahead. It's a little difficult with the pleasure burning through his own body, but if he's going to do this anyway, he's going to make it _good_. It's clear that the deity isn't getting off on this in any way that matters, so if this is the one and only time that Peter gets to have Stiles like this, he's making it count.

Oh, Stiles _will_ find him again after this. Peter has no doubt that Stiles will _need_ him in the future, but just in case? He's not wasting this moment.

So, even though Peter _could_ push and push and feel Stiles come all over his chest in this position, when he feels Stiles' muscles begin to clench rhythmically and when Stiles' scent thickens with a sudden flood of arousal, Peter makes a split-second decision. He doesn't want to have Stiles slump forwards against him after. If Stiles is going to come, Peter's going to _make_ him.

Peter doesn't give any warning. One moment he's snapping his hips up into Stiles' heat, and the next he sits up and pulls Stiles off of his cock. Stiles' resulting shock allows him to act, and even as Stiles realizes what's happening and he starts to protest, Peter growls low in his throat and in seconds, he has Stiles pinned to the bed on his stomach, his pretty cock bunching the sheets under him.

Before Stiles can curse him out, Peter reaches down, grabbing Stiles' wrists, and he pins them above Stiles' head, feeding his cock back into Stiles' wet hole.

"Oh, you're going to come again," Peter growls, draping himself over Stiles and speaking like a threat. And, with that said, he does as he'd promised and he sets up a harder pace. Like this, Peter can rut into Stiles, almost animalistic, and the slap of skin on skin is almost obscene in the room. Peter fucks into him with purpose, making a point to drag Stiles' body against the sheets with every thrust. If Stiles doesn't make a mess of himself, Peter hasn't done his job properly.

* * *

Coming again sounds good. Like, really good. Even though he's already come. Stiles is apparently pretty damn selfish right now. It's gotta be his Heat, right? It's his Heat. Or it's the magic. Whatever magic this is. Stiles has no idea, but it feels fucking amazing and he wants it and it feels so good, his body strangely tired and amped up and Peter's dick making him feel so stretched and full. That delicious edge is approaching, his body trying to muster whatever he may have left in his balls--

But then Stiles isn't coming because Peter just rudely pulls him off his cock. Confusion is there, seen in the shocked expression on Stiles' face, but frustration is the dominant feeling. Stiles doesn't really have the time or willpower to process or act. With a growl, Peter pushes him to his stomach and Stiles is then pinned down.

Which is hotter than it has any right to be. Stiles is writhing, his body hungry and desperate, but he's not strong enough to really accomplish anything. A sound of surprise escapes Stiles' mouth when his wrists are grabbed and wrenched above his head. It's like a wave of _ohmyfuckinggodthisissohot_ hits him but it's not complete until Peter's dick is finding its way back home that Stiles loses it. He pushes back as best as he can, body strung out and demanding and Peter's threat makes him whine.

Peter hammers into him, thick cock plunging into him again and again. Stiles' sensitive dick rubs against the silky sheets and Stiles only lasts about half a minute before he's jerking underneath Peter and coming weakly, his hole clenching, more slick squirting. He's gasping out Peter's name, toes curling as he's overwhelmed by well, _everything._

* * *

Peter's aware that Stiles won't be able to take much more, but he's _also_ prepared to keep going until Stiles can't anymore. This isn't about simple satisfaction. This is about proving a point and hopefully starting something that won't be limited to just this one-time thing. After all... as much as Peter would love to foster a dependency, he can't pretend that _he_ isn't just as interested in the way that Stiles reacts.

After all, the moment that Peter has Stiles pinned down on the bed - the moment that Stiles understands - he lets out a sound so downright sinful that Peter buries a growl against Stiles' throat. The whine is sweet and desperate and the urge to bite rears its head, but Peter isn't about to push things _that_ far. What he _can_ do is make sure that Stiles comes hard enough that he'll think twice before turning to someone else for help in the future.

Peter fucks him like a promise. While he does mind Stiles' species - aware that Stiles is still human and therefore fragile - he doesn't hold back beyond that point. He pins Stiles' wrists down and takes over, snapping his hips forward with the sole purpose of making Stiles come. Peter takes the choice away from him - barring Stiles' pseudo-safeword - and so when he feels Stiles' muscles suddenly seize, when he feels the immediate clench and twitch of his body, Peter fucks in deep and grinds in. He grits his teeth against a low, rumbling growl, feeling Stiles' hole clench and beg so sweetly that it's all he can do to mind his own knot.

He only draws back when he feels that first hint of pressure, because despite how hard Stiles had come, despite how boneless and wrecked he looks, Peter's _reasonably_ sure he can wring one more orgasm out of him at least. He's fairly sure he'd do almost anything to hear Stiles call out his name like that again.

"That's my good boy," Peter says, his voice rough and tight with strain as he finally stills his hips, letting Stiles adjust. He leans in, scraping a biting kiss over Stiles' nape, his grip on Stiles' wrists still tight. "You think you've got one more in you? You might come dry, but I think you can do one more. For me."

* * *

He's lost count. It's official. Stiles has lost count in the orgasm claim to fame tally sheet. He doesn't think he's ever come this much before. When he'd had that stress Heat, he'd used to the knotted dildo to immediately take off the edge and take care of it. Stiles feels like he's been at the edge _forever_ now. Over it, then plopped back on it because Peter is some heathen who's trying to... Trying to what? Show off? Stiles doesn't know.

Pervy-Santa hasn't spoken up - yeah, Stiles hasn't forgotten about the guy-thing that forced them into this crazy mess of a situation. He sure hopes that this isn't going to go on too much longer or he might get fuck-crazy or something.

Orgasm after orgasm, his overheated body is weak, jelly-like and buzzing with pleasure and sensitivity. Thankfully he doesn't need to go anywhere or do anything because he's pretty sure he's reaching his limit - and how the hell has Peter _not_ knotted him yet? Christ. Super dick or something? Stiles doesn't have the brainpower to ask.

He pants, sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead, slick and come making him wet and sticky. Peter's praise - his voice - doesn't sound quite as put together as it has been. Stiles likes it. He likes that _he's_ the reason.

The prospect of another orgasm has him shuddering, however. He doesn't think he has anything left in his balls. How could he? Not that Peter seems to care about that.

"If-- _when_ ," Stiles corrects. "When I do, you better knot me." He doesn't elaborate on the antsy need pounding through him. Getting fucked until he comes his brains out is one thing - an amazing thing - but his body won't be truly satisfied until Peter knots him and Stiles is living through that reality right now.

* * *

The danger with getting Stiles off again and again and again isn't so much that _Stiles_ loses control, but that Peter does. Even now, sweat pooling in the small of his back, his cock throbbing and almost painfully hard, it's all that Peter can do to keep his control. The urge to pin Stiles to the bed and sink his fangs into the side of his neck and fuck him until he's locked tight around Peter's knot is something that Peter needs to fight back the closer Stiles gets to his edge.

As much as he'd like to say otherwise, he's not as put together as he had been. Fucking Stiles into an orgasm like the last one had almost been enough to make Peter lose it as well, and he's not about to finish this on a mistake. So, when Stiles answers him, Peter rumbles a low growl in the back of his throat. He _could_ deny, but he already knows that he's not going to. The base of his cock feels tight and achy, a similar antsy feeling crawling up his back, and so when Stiles finishes, Peter hums low in his throat and rolls his hips in deep.

"Deal. I'll knot you when you come again, but not before," Peter warns, reassurance and threat in one.

He bottoms out on one long grind, feeling Stiles' slick walls clench the place his knot will grow, and when Peter draws back, it's almost reluctant. He keeps Stiles' wrists pinned and adjusts his angle before thrusting back in once, testing to see if Stiles is too sensitive to launch back into it, or if he needs something slower until he can re-adjust.

* * *

How much more _can_ Stiles take? Is there a point where he is going to freakin' lose it if he's not knotted? If he had his wits about him he might actually be worried or more concerned, but he doesn't. He may be exhausted, but there's a very real hunger that persists as well as his stubbornness. Maybe he'd never have been the one to finally cave in and seek out Peter on his own, but it hadn't been out of _not_ wanting to get sexed up. It was a matter of pride, to not give in to the attraction between them - or to not give in _first_.

Not that pride has any place between them now. Pride is completely out of the question when Stiles' balls actually ache and he's sweaty and wet with his own come and slick. He probably smells like a hot-sex-mess. Whatever. Stiles doesn't care.

He needs to get knotted so this Heat can GTFO and God, he hopes that it does. Do the same rules apply for magically-induced Heats? Fuck. He's not going to ask.

Stiles back arches a little as Peter growls and he wiggles, trying to at least show some attitude toward Peter's threat - that Stiles needs to come again before Peter knots him. Fucking jerk. Pressed into the bed, Stiles tries to get more air into his lungs, tries to gear himself up for this.

"Yeah, yeah, when I come and not before," Stiles echoes back, a little sulkily. Peter's thrust has him pushing back in clear encouragement. It _is_ still sensitive, but Stiles plans on pushing through it. He needs Peter's knot and he's going to fucking get it.

* * *

Peter wants to wring Stiles dry, wants to leave him so fucked out that he'll come back for more after this whole ordeal is over with. Though he's no longer paying that much attention to the deity watching them, Peter is aware of the twinkle in his eye and the satisfaction practically rolling off of him in waves. The urge to snarl over at him _is_ there, but the urge to satisfy Stiles properly is far greater. So, though he wants nothing more than to fuck Stiles until he finally knots him, Peter makes a point to keep it easy as Stiles' body readjusts from his last orgasm.

Except _listening_ to Stiles isn't the same as being able to see him. As much as Peter had delighted in pushing Stiles face-down and fucking the last orgasm out of him, as he grinds his hips in now and feels how slick and loose Stiles' hole feels, he suddenly wants to see it. He wants to see the gradual build-up of Stiles' pleasure. So, before Stiles can argue, Peter swiftly pulls out of him and then immediately flips Stiles over onto his back. Peter's hands find Stiles' wrists, pinning them above his head, but the _sight_ of him is practically sinful.

His cock is messy with come and so fucking pretty like this, but Stiles' stomach is still wet with his last orgasm. His chest is flushed, his nipples pebbled, and he looks absolutely debauched in the best way possible. Peter growls as he leans down, and when he feeds his cock back into Stiles' hole, he thrusts in deep, finding the new angle and hiking Stiles' hips up off of the bed with his own thighs.

"There you are," Peter drawls, satisfied. "Look at you. You look practically _sinful_ like this, Stiles."

* * *

Stiles isn't expecting anything to change. Underneath Peter, compressed against the bed, his arms pinned above his head - it's hot. Stiles has no complaints - other than having to apparently come yet again before Peter will knot him. It shouldn't be any surprise that Peter is control freak'ing about this whole thing as it's kind of Peter's _thing._ Peter just better give him his knot or Stiles will find a way to actually kill Peter. For real this time.

Without warning, Stiles finds himself once again being manhandled and re-positioned. Which on one hand is kind of annoying to be flung around like some human ragdoll, but on the other? On the other it's hella hot that Peter is aggressive and taking control and--

Oh. Stiles finds himself on his back, a little dizzy, but then Peter's re-pinning his wrists above his head (still hot). Stiles' spent but half-hard cock twitches feebly as he sees Peter's eyes hungrily gaze at him. That look doesn't really last because it's like _Peter_ can't hold back before he's moving. Peter's big cock thrusts its way back in and Stiles is groaning.

"Sinful for a sinner," Stiles replies, a shaky grin on his face as he clenches around Peter's dick with whatever dwindling energy he has left.

* * *

The weak clench of muscles around Peter's cock is enough to draw a low growl from his throat. Yet even as Stiles' muscles squeeze and Peter feels the minute twitch of Stiles' hips, he can tell that Stiles only has one left in him. He looks dazed and hazy, his expression slightly unfocused. His skin is flushed with pleasure and Peter shoves back the urge to bite Stiles' nipples raw, or jerk him off to full hardness just to watch him squirm. Like this, Peter isn't even sure if Stiles' cock can get fully hard again, but it doesn't stop him from fucking into that tight heat.

His rhythm isn't quite as accurate now, the time between each thrust varying. Peter thrusts quicker and then slower, chasing his own pleasure as much as pushing Stiles towards his own. Already he can feel the tingling ache in the base of his dick, and when he bottoms out on one thrust, Stiles' hole clenches down and the beginnings of Peter's knot catches.

It's like a rush of sensation. It's enough to make Peter growl lower, and when he presses his weight to Stiles' chest and pins him in place, he gives Stiles one moment of warning - just a breath - and then fucks into him harder, faster. Like this, desperate for Peter's knot, his body singing for _more_ , Peter doubts that Stiles will be able to hold back for long.

"If you've only taken fake knots before, you'll find the real thing different," Peter warns, though there's a curl of satisfied amusement in his voice. "I wasn't kidding before. You won't go back to them after you have the real thing."

* * *

The end is coming, right? It's gotta be. Exhaustion in all levels - physical, mental, sexual - fights to bog Stiles down, but somehow the insatiable hunger manages to stop him from passing or tiring out. He wonders if it's just his Heat or if this Heat is different because it was magically induced? There's no way he's going to go and _ask_ the fucker that got them into this position to begin with.

Frankly he's glad that he can't see the dude now. Stiles doesn't know what kinds of stuff he might be into, but he's pretty sure that it's not coerced sex and being watched. Nope, no thanks. While it's definitely an amusing situation - fuck to live? - he'd rather _not_ be in this particular scenario.

Not that he isn't _fully_ enjoying Peter's dick fucking into him, big and thick. Peter's arousal offers Stiles a heady, spicier scent and the strange desire to smell Peter _more_ , to nuzzle against him or have Peter rub his scent all over him is there, but Stiles is totally chalking it up to have sex with an Alpha.

Peter's thrusts may be more varied, but somehow they steadily turn him on. Stiles thinks he might feel the beginnings of Peter's knot, but before he can try and figure it out (or possibly ask), Peter is growling and suddenly driving into him harder and faster. Stiles makes a higher pitched sound of surprise as his hips try and move up on their own accord.

Peter's threat isn't new, but this time, coupled with how desperate Stiles is, it gets him begging.

"Fuck, Peter please--" To his own ears, Stiles' voice is wrecked. "Need it. Need it. Need you." Peter doesn't stop ramming into him and Stiles, lost in his own desperation to be knotted, isn't aware of himself climaxing, cock trying to spurt, ass clenching as tears of effort and exhaustion roll down his cheeks.

* * *

Peter can tell the moment that Stiles is too far gone. It's a sudden laxity in his expression, a sudden tightening around Peter's cock, and when he listens to Stiles' voice suddenly call out, sweet and desperate, he draws back just enough to look down at him. The sight of Stiles all strung out - his face red, his eyelashes clumped with tears of effort and over-stimulation, his chest heaving - is one that Peter doubts he'll ever forget. It locks away in the back of his mind, sudden and desperate and intense.

Stiles' orgasm is weak and all but dragged out of him, but Peter still feels it when Stiles' muscles suddenly clench down around him. It's not as powerful as it had been before, but Peter's growing knot is much more sensitive. That, plus hearing about how much Stiles _needs him_ is enough to center Peter all over again. He growls low in his throat, and he fucks Stiles through each weak twitch of his pretty little cock, aware that it's got to be hurting by now and reveling in the fact.

This time, Peter doesn't hold back. This time, he fucks Stiles with shorter, deeper thrusts, his knot beginning to swell in earnest. Peter grits his teeth and keeps moving his hips until Stiles' body begins to clench down. Peter still thrusts, still moves, but the moment that Stiles' body locks around the base of his knot, he knows he's done.

With a low growl, Peter leans in, burying his face against Stiles' throat to breathe him in. He fucks Stiles' body in short, sharp thrusts, grinding as his knot swells enough to fill Stiles like he's never been filled before. And, with a final, cursed groan of Stiles' name, Peter thrusts in deep and holds himself there, his knot throbbing as he shoots in hot, long spurts, painting Stiles' insides with his come. The scent that washes over him is sudden - their _mixed_ scent - and Peter presses his teeth to Stiles' throat in the parody of a mating bite. Not even he is that far gone.

* * *

When Stiles comes, he's momentarily not thinking about getting knotted. His brain halts as Peter wrings out another orgasm from him. Peter doesn't slow down or let him catch a break, no. Peter is insistent, hips snapping forward and driving the pleasure even higher. Stiles might be moaning or sobbing - he's not entirely sure. All he knows is that he's fatigued and buzzed and that there's absolutely no more come left inside of him and yet he keeps trying to come.

Thankfully, mercifully, the onslaught doesn't last too much longer. It can't because Peter is crowding in closer and the stretch is actually intensifying because Peter's knot is swelling. Peter's face close to his throat comes with an air of danger - he's seen what those fangs are capable of - but Stiles isn't afraid of Peter hurting him. Peter's only pushed him by plying orgasms on him as if it was going out of style.

Stiles first feels a different sort of thickness inside him, Peter's knot nestles up against him just right like the most exquisite torture because it's so perfect and yet it feels overwhelmingly like too much. Stiles hears Peter groan out _his_ name and his toes curl. He shakes as Peter comes inside of him, a rush of wet heat mixing with his own. Stiles is weakly rolling his hips, trying to better feel Peter's knot and fuck himself on it. His own balls hurt but it's still pleasurable to finally be filled. His hands are beginning to go tingly from being pinned above his head but Stiles doesn't try to break free.

Teeth against his neck, Stiles' eyes close as his Heat finally beings calm.

* * *

It's like a rush, like the world narrows in on Peter's own pulse in his ears as he knots Stiles' ass. Pleasure throbs through him as he fills Stiles' body, grinding his hips deeply as Stiles' body gives under him and Stiles even pushes back against it. Peter doubts he's aware that he's doing it; Stiles smells like desperation and Heat and arousal. It's very unlikely that Stiles can even think straight anymore, but Peter doesn't care. He's made his point. He's broken this ridiculous stalemate between them, and he knows for a fact that when this is all over - when they're back to their everyday lives - Stiles will seek him out and beg for it all over again.

And Stiles takes Peter's knot so well that Peter thinks he'll let himself be swayed. After all, Stiles begs so sweetly when he's really into it.

Distantly, as pleasure thrums in Peter's body, he glances up enough to look at the damn thing that had brought them there in the first place. For one second, Peter swears he smells ivy and pine, and he gets a glimpse of something large, powerful, and feline standing beside the man's chair. Peter makes eye contact and with a small smile, the deity lifts his hand, snaps his fingers, and across the way, a door opens up on the other side of the room.

He stares, shielding Stiles with his body, and as he watches, the man just... disappears. Peter blinks, taken aback, but he decides to keep that little fact from Stiles as Peter leans down over him and finally lets go of his wrists. He presses his face to Stiles' throat and breathes him in, rumbling a low growl in his throat, and he settles exactly where he is, listening to Stiles' pulse even out under him, basking in the _perfect_ scent of satisfied Omega.

"Just relax," Peter instructs, his voice low. "We'll be here awhile. Just enjoy the relief."

And he can tell that Stiles does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We at least have 2 more chapters in the works for this 'verse, so we'll see what happens!


	3. Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this will now have a few more chapters, as long as we're interested in being filthy sinners xoxo

* * *

* * *

Peter had taunted Stiles that, after Stiles sampling _Peter,_ knotted dildos would no longer satisfy him.

And Peter was right.

Fucking dick.

No, that's the actual problem because Stiles wants _Peter's_ dick to be specific. Some perverted Pagan deity had transported them into another dimension, magicked Stiles into a Heat in order for Peter and him to bang and embrace sexual liberation or something. It had been... intense. And fucking amazing. The Heat part sucked because Heats make you coco for knotsex-puffs, but whatever. They hadn't died and apparently the deity had been pleased by their so-called "offering" and then "graciously" opted to move on from tormenting Beacon Hills.

So, all in all, a success...

Except for the fact that Stiles is now thinking about Peter... about doing stuff, wondering how things would be. Sex things. Because now that he's not in a Heat, Stiles is curious about how it would be.

Okay, that's not technically true. It's three days later and Stiles had tried to get off - _tried_ being the keyword because he's not been able to do it. His mind keeps going back to Peter, and while Stiles is totally fine with fantasizing about Peter - he'd done it countless times before - now that Stiles had the real deal, his body wants it.

He wants Peter. It's aggravating as hell because now that things have finally happened between them, Stiles doesn't want to be the first one to break and seek Peter out... but fuck it, whatever. He'll do it. He'll suck it up.

Stiles doesn't bother showering - let Peter smell his attempts - and he re-dresses himself before driving over to Peter's apartment.

* * *

It's an odd feeling, being one of the two responsible for _saving_ Beacon Hills rather than attempting to destroy it. It's also a novel feeling, especially because he had technically done it with his dick.

When he and Stiles had reported back to the pack after the whole incident, they'd left that part out. The only ones who'd looked like they _knew_ what had happened had been Derek and Malia, both natural-born wolves, and both more than adept at using their senses. Scott had been oblivious, or _very_ good at hiding the fact that he'd known that Peter had fucked Stiles to save Beacon Hills. Peter doubts it, though. Scott has always _been_ oblivious.

On the surface, life returns to normal, but despite Peter maintaining his usual schedule, he can't pretend like his thoughts don't keep drifting to Stiles. Stiles, who had reacted so perfectly to every single touch and whisper of sensation. Stiles, who had taken Peter's knot so well despite never having done so before. Stiles, who had looked so _pretty_ all wrung out and desperate.

Yes, _he_ features in Peter's thoughts quite often. Still, Peter is a patient man, and he bides his time. So when he hears the distant rumble of the atrocious powder-blue Jeep that Stiles always drives, Peter looks up from his coffee and smirks. Well then. His day suddenly has the possibility of looking up.

He buzzes Stiles in without Stiles being aware of it, and when he hears Stiles approaching his door, Peter walks over, briefly checks his hair in the mirror in the hallway (because one can never be _too_ careful) and just as Stiles' footsteps stop, Peter reaches out and opens the door.

"Stiles," he greets pleasantly. "To what do I owe the--... ah."

The scent hits him just like that, the faint scent of frustration and need and the lingering headiness of arousal. A smirk tugs at his lips, immediate and pleased.

"Well, look at that. I was right after all, was I?"

* * *

Yeah, he's given in. Yeah, he's only lasted three days and Peter's absolutely going to tease the shit out of him, but whatever. Stiles can take it. He's been through worse than this anyway. This is just... a mild annoyance at best. He's practically proving how mature he is by taking the initiative.

Besides, seeking out Peter could be a good thing. Maybe they'll start fucking around because fucking around is good for regulating hormones and whatnot. Stiles wouldn't mind that (not that he expects any sudden Heats again). It's still crazy to think that he had his first Heat with Peter Hale. That Peter fingered and ate him out and fucked him and then knotted him.

Great, Stiles is already half-hard by the time he reaches Peter's door. Which then opens for him.

Peter figures out the shit quick and it's honestly a relief that Stiles won't need to spell it out for him. He simply rolls his eyes as he strides into Peter's place before kicking off his loosely-tied sneakers.

"Yes, congratulations, you were right," Stiles retorts, crossing his arms as he eyes Peter up.

* * *

Stiles sweeps into the room and Peter merely steps aside to let him come in. There's nothing but satisfaction in Peter's eyes as he politely closes the door behind Stiles, a knowing smile on his lips as he all but exudes a lazy confidence. Peter turns the lock on the door for good measure, and when he steps over, he reaches out with his foot to nudge Stiles' sneakers away into the corner of the entryway, out of the way.

"I almost feel like I should get you to say that again for posterity's sake," Peter muses smugly. But instead of doing that, he makes a point to step in closer, breathing in Stiles' scent without subtlety.

They'd lost subtlety when Stiles had practically been _crying_ on Peter's knot, his hole desperate and his arms eventually winding around Peter's neck because he'd needed the closeness.

"So. Are you looking for a repeat performance, or do you smell like frustration and arousal for _another_ reason?"

* * *

Stiles doesn't especially _like_ conceding that Peter was right, but what else can he do? Some parts of that particular night may be hazy, but Peter the Alpha asshole that he is, had taunted Stiles more than once about how a dildo wouldn't satisfy him going forward. Maybe Stiles internalized it, and this is just a self-fulfilling prophecy? He doesn't know, but he's not going to bring that up as a possible defense for Peter to tear into.

Stiles watches Peter nudge his sneakers into where Peter would like them to be and really? _This_ Alpha? _This_ pretentious douchebag? _This_ is who Stiles is hot for?

Apparently yes because Peter steps in closer and blatantly breathes him in. Stiles' cheeks heat but he stands his ground. He knows what he smells like and Peter is happy enough to tell him too.

"Why do you _think_ I'd come over here for?" Stiles shoots back. "Talk about my day? Reminisce about the time where we did the nasty to save Beacon Hills?"

* * *

As much fun as it is to watch Stiles squirm with embarrassment, Peter does need to admit that he's curious where this is going to go. He'd enjoyed having Stiles strung out and desperate on his knot, but looking back on it, it hadn't been like he'd once thought it would be. He had enjoyed having control over Stiles, and Peter still can't remember a time he'd knotted as hard as he had, but Stiles' personality had been limited by his Heat.

Assuming that Stiles is here for a reason, Peter can change that. He _is_ curious how amenable Stiles will be without a Heat in the way. Peter breathes him in again, slower, contemplative, but when Stiles replies, Peter snorts a soft laugh in the back of his throat. He looks at Stiles with a lazy smirk on his lips.

"I don't think you can reminisce about something that happened three days ago, but you have a point, I suppose. Are you still feeling the effects of the Heat, or has that left your system by now?"

* * *

Stiles doesn't have like, a set plan for how he wants things to go, he just... He knows that apparently his body wants Peter. The idea of a _repeat performance_ honestly sounds exhausting. Stiles isn't even sure that he'd be able to manage it without passing out, and he'd rather not pass out in Peter's company.

Peter may think that it's not possible to reminisce about something that happened only three days ago, but Stiles thinks you can. Peter doesn't get to be the gatekeeper for what's reminisce-able or whatever. But before Stiles can give his rebuttal, Peter is deciding to be all practical and ask about his Heat.

Stiles' cheeks flame but he doesn't back down. Instead, he crosses his arms, looking ever the picture of a haughty Omega.

"I don't feel any lingering effects," Stiles answers. "Do I smell fine?" Because it kind of makes sense to ask given Peter's nose-smelling abilities.

* * *

There are _so_ many things that Peter _could_ say in response, but he reins himself in for Stiles' benefit. After all, while he is convinced that Stiles coming here had been inevitable, he's not about to scare him away. Peter doesn't want Stiles storming off in a fit of rage any more than he wants Stiles to _stay_ away, so he decides to briefly be charitable.

Stepping closer, Peter leans in. He doesn't need to do either, but despite Stiles' crossed arms and his ornery mood, he does like being this close to an Omega who so clearly wants him. Breathing in, Peter can scent remnants of slick and arousal. There's a spicy headiness to Stiles' scent, one that he does want to sample again, but he keeps himself in check until he can tell for sure.

"Your hormones have leveled out," Peter says conversationally. "You smell like yourself again. Just also of frustration and slick." Peter draws back and looks at Stiles, amused. "Your faithful and trusted toy no longer doing it for you?"

* * *

Stiles _has_ sort of set Peter up. He's aware of it, but there's nothing that can be done about it now. He's already asked and while Stiles knows that he's not 100% fine or okay given his failed exploits earlier, Stiles still wants to make sure nothing funky magical is going on with him. If Peter decides to get overly extravagant about it, Stiles can peace out. It's not a big deal.

Stiles' pulse jumps excitedly when Peter leans even _closer._ Because Peter smells good to him. Peter _generally_ smells good, of course. The guy likes his expensive ponce-y cologne and whatever, but it's not Peter's cologne that is attracting Stiles. It's Peter's unique scent _underneath_ that. Peter's skin, Peter's sweat... Stiles wants to experience both again.

There is a small measure of relief at Peter's conclusion. Heat sex was wild and crazy, but Stiles definitely couldn't handle doing that all the time. The risk of not having someone around? Not good for an Omega, especially now that Stiles _knows_ how good it can be. Which leads them to Peter's question.

"Smelling like frustration and slick isn't a dead give away?" Stiles challenges. Knowing Peter, he wants Stiles to say it clearly, but he's hoping that Peter will just give in.

* * *

At Stiles' answer, Peter smirks. This is what he'd missed when Stiles had been in his Heat. Charming as he had been while strung out and desperate, Peter _had_ missed this more contrarian side of Stiles. Half of his charm has always been in his mind, and as lovely as he had looked all but hanging from Peter's knot, his pretty little cock trying so desperately to spit out more come that his balls hadn't had, Peter had missed the Omega who would have challenged him immediately. Who would have hit him for being such an ass.

Luckily, it looks like _that_ is the Stiles before him now. Peter chuckles to himself, pleased at the sight of Stiles so close and so clearly interested. After a moment, he steps in enough to almost put them flush, then reaches up and tilts Stiles' chin up. Peter looks at him, studying the warm honey of his eyes and lips that look bitten and flushed from a few days ago - though Peter inwardly needs to admit that that's probably just his imagination.

"I want you to say it," Peter says simply, sliding his claws out. He tickles one under Stiles' throat and leans in, close enough to murmur into his ear, enough to drag a fang over the shell of it. "I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you, and we'll go from there."

* * *

Because it's what Stiles wants, of course, Peter can't do it. Peter's all about pushing him and making him have to suck it up and spit it out - and whoa, that sounds kinda sexual - but Stiles is referring to asking and admitting. Stiles wants sexual. He _so so so_ does. His half-hard dick is proof enough as is the slick he can feel between his asscheeks.

As soon as Stiles sees that familiar smirk, he knows that Peter isn't going to be the one cave in.

After all, it had been months having this lingering attraction and doing nothing about it. _Repression,_ pervy-Santa had called it. They'd been _repressing_ themselves and now Stiles has dined at Restaurant du Peter and he's come back for seconds. It makes sense.

Even if it makes sense, Stiles doesn't want to do it. That resistance begins to melt away when Peter steps in closer and tilts his head up. Yeah, it might be a bit patronizing, but Stiles can't say he's all that upset about it.

It's the sound of claws sliding out that has him shivering. It's the threat of one claw so close to his throat that has Stiles' cock twitching. And it's Peter's breath, voice and the graze of a fang over the shell of his ear that has Stiles letting out a whimper.

Stiles knows he's screwed.

"Fuck, I want you to do everything," Stiles grits out. "But I definitely want you to knot me again."

* * *

It's like playing an instrument, only much quicker. Peter might not know how to play more than rudimentary piano (which he'd only done to annoy Talia at the time) but he _does_ know how to play Stiles. He'd gotten a crash course in it, and he knows a few things that Stiles really enjoys. Stiles is a fan of Peter's language. He _likes_ that Peter is dangerous. And he most definitely likes the fact that Peter doesn't stigmatize sex in the way that most do.

Peter can almost _see_ Stiles melting under his questions, and it's a good feeling. He smirks to himself as he draws back, and all he needs is to look down at Stiles and see the flush to his cheeks before Peter is wetting his lips. Stiles _is_ a treat, even now.

"I think that can be arranged," he drawls, sliding one of his hands down to slowly cup Stiles' cock through the front of his jeans. "You felt exquisite around my knot, and you _taste_ so sweet. I wouldn't mind getting my tongue on you again, if you're amenable." Peter slides his hand down further, curling his fingers to tease at Stiles' ass. A hint of a promise.

"Why don't you come to my room with me, hmm?"

* * *

Claws and fangs are dangerous. _Werewolves_ are dangerous. Peter is dangerous. But Stiles doesn't really care. He'd been possessed by a freakin' nogitsune. Stiles has killed people and hurt his friends and family and nothing worse than that. Besides, if Peter were going to fuck up, he'd have done it by now. Maybe Stiles is a little deranged, but he's not actually afraid of Peter.

Stiles' cock is a hard line within his jeans, his pulse steadily picking up at Peter's proximity. Now that he's finally here and said it, Stiles can't see what all the fuss was about. Big deal if he had to come over and possibly make a spectacle of himself (Peter would probably call it that). Stiles is going to get what he wants. It's being assertive and there's nothing wrong with being assertive.

Peter's hand comes to rub against his cock and Stiles' legs widen, invitingly. He really doesn't mean to be as shameless, but after failing at getting himself off, Stiles is worked up and gung ho. Peter talks and Stiles wets his lips - oh yeah, he's feeling very amenable to anything that Peter wants to do. It's kinda stupid, but just knowing that Peter is gonna do stuff with him has Stiles feeling less stressed.

Then Peter asks to go to his room and Stiles, unable to resist being a brat, counters with, "Why? Can't do it out here?"

* * *

Hook, line, and sinker. Peter's smirk deepens but there's nothing but pride there as he drinks Stiles in. The way that Stiles widens his stance is enough to get his attention, because there's something sweet in the obedience. Even if he does appreciate Stiles being ornery and combative, it makes the eventual compliance that much sweeter. So, chuckling, Peter presses his palm firmly to the line of Stiles' cock, feeling the hardness in his jeans and rubbing at it enough to make Stiles' scent spike in need.

But when Stiles counters his offer and challenges Peter to do it _here?_ Peter considers, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Oh, he's reasonably sure that this is Stiles' attempt to push back a little just because he can, but Peter finds himself intrigued just the same.

So, in less than a second, Peter makes his choice. He sends Stiles a thoughtful look and then, before Stiles can do much of anything, Peter reaches down and scoops Stiles up into his arms, bridal style. In a few strides, he carries Stiles to the couch, but instead of laying him down on it, he sets Stiles down on the floor and then bends him over the back of the couch.

In one move, he has Stiles' jeans and boxers down around his ankles, and Peter sets a hand against the small of his back, pinning him there. And, before Stiles can do more than splutter his shock, Peter reaches down, parts Stiles' cheeks, and presses two fingers into his already-slightly-stretched hole, humming his pleasure at the heat and wetness of it.

"Oh, you _do_ need it, don't you?" Peter drawls. "So wet for me."

* * *

So maybe doing anything in Peter's entry way isn't exactly convenient or hot, but that's not the point. The point is, they don't _need_ to be in Peter's bedroom. Oh. Stiles kinda wants to go to Peter's bedroom and check it out - see how douchebag-y it is - but he's gotta exert his charm when he can. Also, he's allowed to be a bit of a brat. Stiles is giving himself this allowance because he's the one that broke down to come seek Peter out.

Stiles meets Peter's eyes, challenging and engaged. Will Peter take the bait?

A physical answer is given: Peter scoops him up like some damsel in distress and Stiles huffs. He'd love to give a retort, but unfortunately, his pesky hormones are like ' _yay Peter's closer and touching us!'_ so his brain isn't as sharp and Stiles misses his chance. He doesn't fight or wiggle as Peter effortlessly carries him to the attached living room.

He's not plopped down onto the couch, however. Peter places him back down on his feet - behind the couch - and then positions him as if he's some doll - a sex doll that is - because Stiles is bent over the couch. He's pliant. The eagerness and enthusiasm for anything is outweighing his need to be snarky. His boxers and jeans are yanked down and Stiles is groaning and widening his stance in invitation. Fingers touch against him and Stiles pants.

"You already know I need it," Stiles bites back, his cock heavy between his own legs. He pushes back on Peter's fingers.

* * *

There's something deliciously debauched about seeing Stiles spread over the back of the couch like a treat. Before, it had been a large bed, and that had served its purpose, but _this_ time there's no one watching. No one is forcing them to do this. Every single damn thing that they're doing is because Stiles wants it. Because _they_ want it, and so when Peter shoves him down over the couch and presses his fingers against Stiles' hole, he's inwardly pleased when Stiles pushes back.

Peter doesn't make him wait for it. He presses both fingers inside at once, deep, up to the knuckle. And, because he can, and because Stiles had reacted so perfectly to it before, Peter curls his fingers, pressing down on that clever little nub in Stiles' body that gives Peter such control over him.

He steps in closer, bracing Stiles against the couch, his legs boxing Stiles in to keep him from squirming away or throwing Peter off. Why stop the party right now, after all? Not when it's so much fun. Not when Stiles clearly needs this.

"Mm. Yes, I know. But I _do_ like hearing you say it."

* * *

Just because Peter _knows,_ doesn't mean that Peter won't try and draw things out. Drawing things out is kind of Peter's schtick. Stiles isn't really expecting anything different, but now that he's not in a magically induced Heat, he's able to at least show some more attitude. And Stiles likes that he's able to be himself and that Peter isn't going to lose his shit just because Stiles - an Omega - talks back a little. Here, Peter being unconventional works in Stiles' favor.

When Stiles pushes back, he's not chastised - Peter actually _lets_ it happen, fingers slipping in. Whoa. Stiles _already_ feels better just from that. It's gotta be because it's _Peter's_ fingers inside - an _Alpha's_ \- but Stiles doesn't have time to think too deeply about it. Peter's fingers expertly curl inside of him and Stiles jerks with a gasped out hiss. He's unable to go very far as Peter steps in closer and effectively pins him against the back of the couch.

As he squirms, Stiles' hands try and claw at the cushions for purchase as Peter's fingers illicit the most sensitive pleasure from him. Back arching, Stiles shudders as he says, "So what? I _do_ need it."

* * *

Peter doesn't need to be this close to smell Stiles' relief, but he's thrilled that he is. All it takes is the slow slide of his fingers into Stiles' body for heat to curl through Peter in return. He remembers how Stiles' gripping heat had felt around his knot only three days ago, and he can't wait to feel it again. After all, as much as fucking an Omega in Heat is convenient, their bodies are always open, desperate, and slick. Peter's definitely a fan of _that_ , but he's more so a fan of _making_ that happen.

He's never really been the type to want things handed to him. So, when Stiles gasps and hisses, jerking as Peter's fingers curl and stroke over his prostate, Peter boxes him in and drinks in the sound. He feels Stiles' hole twitch, feels the added rush of slick, and he hums his pleasure, watching as Stiles squirms and claws at the cushion. He looks thrilling like this, like desperation incarnate, and Peter chuckles, working his fingers in deep and rubbing pointedly.

"You _do_ , don't you?" Peter smirks. "And you came all the way here for it. I suppose you're owed a little relief. Take the edge off, if you will." Which is all he says before he kicks Stiles' legs a little wider and makes enough room to start thrusting quick and driven with his fingers. Peter watches, breathing in the scent of arousal as he works Stiles up.

"I think I want to see you come."

* * *

Maybe it's Stiles who broke first and gave in, but they _both_ benefit from it. Stiles can be magnanimous enough to allow him to swallow his pride in favor of getting to do sexy things with Peter. He hasn't said this to Peter, but Stiles would like to _after._ He thinks it'd be fun to tease Peter that _he_ was the bigger man and able to be assertive in going after what he wanted. Something like that.

Stiles isn't in any position to verbally spar with Peter _now,_ however. Not when he's finally got Peter's fingers inside of him and Peter seems to have no problem figuring out how and where to rub and tease. Stiles' cock throbs, his insides feel charged and he's getting what he wants. Verbal spars are for later - after Stiles has come and been knotted and he's been fully satisfied.

Taking the edge off sounds like a great idea to Stiles. He's trembling as Peter makes him spread his legs more before fingers start plunging into his wetness. Stiles moans and as best he can, he pushes back, hungry for Peter's fingers and uncaring how desperate he's coming across. It's been days since he's gotten off. He needs this.

"Make me then," Stiles shoots back as his fingers curl and uncurl. "Make me come."

* * *

The scent of arousal is perhaps one of Peter's favorite things, at least... when he's the one to have caused it. Maybe Stiles had already worked himself up before, but he'd done so to thoughts of Peter, and the knowledge that Stiles is so desperate for _him_ is enough to stroke Peter's ego nicely. He smirks to himself as Stiles trembles under him, but despite his satisfaction, he is still paying attention to the way that Stiles moves.

There's desperation in each movement, a need to _finally_ get off. And so when Stiles challenges Peter to do it - to make him come - Peter's smirk eases into something sly and satisfied.

"Gladly. Your wish is my command."

Peter pauses just for long enough to readjust. He steps back and slides his fingers deep into Stiles' hole, deep enough to make him feel it and to get his fingers nice and slick. Then he begins to thrust, each one ending on a hard curl of his fingers as he begins to work Stiles' prostate ruthlessly. Peter growls low in his throat because he knows that Stiles like the danger, and when he leans down enough to press his lips to Stiles' neck, Peter scrapes his fangs along Stiles' skin before biting - enough to feel the threat of it, but not enough to break the skin. He's too careful for that.

* * *

Stiles may not be going through a Heat - natural or otherwise - but he didn't have some huge plan in coming here. Other than, you know, doing sexy dirty stuff with Peter. All the stuff. All the stuff had really been good. Minus the coercion and magic. Stiles may be young, but he doesn't think he'll be able to come as many times as he had during that night, though. So... maybe taunting or challenging Peter isn't his brightest idea. Peter's a bit of a sadist, after all, but now that Stiles has his wits about him, he can't help but do it.

At home, armed with his hand and knotted dildo, Stiles _had_ been thinking about Peter the entire time. Stiles really wants to get knotted again so he can figure out how it feels while _not_ on a Heat. Too bad for him he hadn't specified that.

So Peter does what Peter wants to do. Peter's fingers thrust in deep and Stiles' toes are curling in his socks as Peter repeatedly brushes against his prostate. Stiles ass tingles, his cock aching and hard and even if wanted to move away he can't as Peter is draped over him. He's helpless to Peter's skillful fingers filling and working him.

Stiles' eyes are squeezed shut, his body taut as the onslaught continues. It might not be Peter's dick, but Peter's a pro with his fingers. Stiles can hear how wet he is, faintly feel it dripping down the backs of his legs. Just knowing that he'll be able to come because he's with Peter makes the journey better.

Fangs graze his neck and Stiles hisses out a curse as the pleasure somehow increases. He does like the danger.

Then Peter bites him - not super hard, not enough for injury - but it's enough for Stiles. With an unmuffled cry, Stiles jerks, his cock spitting and painting come against the back of Peter's couch.

* * *

There's nothing more satisfying than being right, and Peter latches onto that with gusto as he fucks Stiles' hole with his fingers. Each move of his fingers is quick and a little sloppy, which only proves to Peter that Stiles _had_ been trying to get off at home. He's tempted to one day ask Stiles to bring the knotted dildo over so he can compare, and to show Stiles just how much he doesn't need it, but even Peter knows that that train of thought has nothing to do with practicality and everything to do with pride.

Not that that's a sin like this. Because like _this_ , it's very clear that it's Peter's actions that are getting Stiles off. It's _Peter's_ fingers, his strength, his fangs - everything. This close, Peter can hear how hard Stiles' heart is beating, can scent the growing arousal on the air. The scent is thick and sweet - not as sweet as a Heat, of course, but sweet enough to catch his attention. Peter's tempted to drop to his knees, to drink from the source, but listening to Stiles whimper and moan, and feeling him wiggle and squirm is far too addicting.

Peter watches hungrily as Stiles' body begins to jerk, and when the hint of Peter's fangs brushes over his throat, Stiles suddenly seizes against the couch. Peter feels the clench around his fingers and the sudden rush of slick, and before Stiles even cries out, Peter is working him hard. He pins Stiles down and fucks his hole with his fingers, wetness slicking over Peter's skin as Peter glances down. He sees the sudden rush of come over the back of his couch, but he doesn't make a fuss over it.

Instead, he hums his pleasure and keeps slowly working Stiles' prostate until his cock stops twitching.

When Peter slides his fingers free, he hums his satisfaction and steals a quick taste, admiring the drip of Stiles' slick. And, really, with the source so close-- Peter smirks and then drops to his knees, leaning in. He licks a long stripe up the back of one of Stiles' thighs. The taste isn't as sweet as it had been during Stiles' Heat, but Peter's still pleased.

"I could get used to this. You're _very_ reactive."

* * *

Werewolf claws and fangs are dangerous enough on their own, but given Peter's secondary gender as an Alpha, there's also the threat (or promise) of a mating bite to contend with. There's no way Peter would ever want to bond with him, so Stiles isn't really worried about it. Not that he's in any position to be thinking clearly because Peter's fingers seem to effortlessly be able to hone in on his prostate and get him shaking. Without the haze of the Heat, his orgasm feels very sharper somehow.

It's relief and pleasure wrapped in one. Stiles had tried for _hours_ before seeking Peter out, and now to finally have the rush of climax through him has Stiles supremely grateful. He's not going to thank Peter, of course. While Stiles trembles, Peter's fingers don't relent, working inside of him and insistently wringing out his orgasm until Stiles feels almost light and tingly.

Stiles' head falls forward, his hands relaxing when Peter's fingers finally pull out of him. He's gushed slick too, but in the warm buzz of post-orgasm, Stiles doesn't care about the mess he's made and how big of an ego boost this will be for Peter. It takes Stiles a few good seconds to clue into the fact that Peter's on his knees behind him. He has a second to wonder if he's embarrassed by it, but then Peter's tongue licks up a trail of slick from the back of his thigh. Stiles' hole flutters as he lets out a panted whine.

"Well, you're very persistent," Stiles retorts in a weak voice. He takes in a deeper breath before deciding to push. "C'mon, fuck me already. Want your knot again." To hopefully entice, he spreads his legs further apart and wiggles his ass.

* * *

Not every Alpha would ever get onto their knees for an Omega, even to sample their fruits from a job well done, but Peter isn't such an Alpha. He fully believes in enjoying the fruits of his labor, and Stiles' slick is heady and sweet against his tongue. It isn't the syrupy sweetness of Heat, but Peter could happily chase the taste and eat Stiles out until he was shaking. Hell, he's tempted to do that again, to push Stiles further, but given how relaxed and satisfied he is after finally being able to come, there _is_ a different instinct tugging at Peter's senses.

He still cleans Stiles' thighs up, and when Stiles spreads his legs further and wiggles his ass, Peter glances up enough to see how wet and welcoming Stiles' hole looks, freshly-fucked and wet with slick. He'd taste like a treat like this, but Peter decides to be amenable. After all, he _had_ controlled everything with the deity there. If he wants Stiles to come back, Stiles should know that he can make requests and have them honored.

So, Peter does get up onto his feet. Drinking in the sight of Stiles in front of him, he slides his hand down, undoing his jeans and working them down enough to free his cock from his boxers. Peter uses his slick-wet hand to stroke himself a few times; he's hard enough after that, but not fully hard. Looking at Stiles like this, though, Peter doubts it'll take long. He looks and smells sweet.

"Normally I'd insist on lube, but you _do_ get very wet when you're aroused, don't you?" Peter muses, stroking a hand over one of Stiles' asscheeks. "I thought that was just your Heat talking, before."

Peter steps in closer and leans in, rubbing the head of his cock through Stiles' slick, teasing. "Do you always get this wet?"

* * *

 _Reactive_. It's not necessarily a bad word, but it somehow comes with a feeling of embarrassment or caution. Is Stiles _too_ reactive? What's the normal level for this kind of thing anyway? The Internet probably has some answers, but Stiles knows that that information is super subjective. Stiles _could_ ask Peter, but nope. He'd rather wonder (and maybe worry) on his own.

It's easier to try and push things ahead, because if they're _doing_ stuff, there's less of a chance that Stiles may do something weird or say something and... well, he doesn't want this to stop. Not yet at least. Peter can be prissy and pissy sometimes and this is new. There's a chance that Stiles _could_ fuck something up. As he's not in a Heat yet. He's less desirable, right? Maybe there'll be less tolerance or something.

So, Stiles spreads his legs and Peter's tongue licks his thighs clean (which is _weird-hot_ and _weird-something_ else too). Peter using his tongue wouldn't be bad, but Stiles is just, really curious about getting fucked and knotted while _not_ in a Heat. Will it be as good? Stiles' overactive noggin' stops producing thoughts when Peter stands up.

Peter standing up means something is going to happen. Stiles hears the sound of a zipper sliding down and he exhales slowly, trying to gear himself up for this as best he can. Fuck. Is Peter really going to just _do it?_ No taunting?

Then Peter _talks_ and Stiles is once again reminded just what Peter is all about - talking _and_ teasing him. Stiles huffs, embarrassment rolling through him at the question and Peter's assumption that his apparent level of wetness before had only been due to his Heat. Peter makes it sound like maybe he gets _too_ wet? But it's difficult to get indignant when Peter is rubbing his dick in said slick and Stiles _still_ wants to get fucked.

"You think I keep some diary tracking how wet I get?" Stiles retorts.

* * *

Oh, Peter is tempted to just drop to his knees again and eat Stiles out until he's shaking with it, but there is a time and a place for everything, and right now, it's better to establish a baseline. He'd already all but made Stiles' legs go weak with his orgasm; there's no denying the fact that Peter _knows_ how to treat an Omega properly, but he's finding it an increasingly-pleasant challenge to navigate Stiles' moods. He's a fickle thing, quick to anger and even quicker to embarrass, though he rarely seems to seek out reassurance for the embarrassment.

Peter thinks that Stiles _likes_ it, that he likes the mild humiliation, that it only makes him harder and wetter, and who is he to deny what his partner prefers? Besides, with the taste of Stiles' slick on his tongue and with the way that Stiles seems so primed to take him already, it's only fair that he give back a little.

Still, Stiles' answer - quick and sharp and rather clever - is enough to draw a chuckle from Peter's throat. He looks down at Stiles in amusement, charmed despite himself at an Omega freely able to talk back to an Alpha. This is why it should have been Stiles all along.

"No, though I'll admit, that would be a diary I'd be interested in reading. It was just an observation, not a criticism," Peter adds, leaning in to mouth at Stiles' throat as he slowly ruts his cock against Stiles' slick hole.

Bit by bit, he's hardening fully, spurred on by the heat and wetness and the scent.

"I'm quite taken with how sensitive you are. You're lucky I'm in a generous mood; if I had my way, I'd be eating you out until you begged me for more."

* * *

Can Stiles really complain or grumble about how Peter is if he's the one that sought Peter out to begin with? Maybe not. And anyway, Peter teasing him doesn't really bother Stiles - or at least not that much. The problem is that all of this is hella new. Stiles doesn't have a baseline for sexual stuff with Peter. That fucked up magical-Heat encounter doesn't really count as Stiles can't even remember all the details or some of them blur together. And he knows _a lot_ of things happened, like Peter fingering him, eating him out, Stiles sucking on Peter's dick, the fucking of course. Peter's knot.

But Stiles is pretty sure that Peter had still been Peter - the questions, the implications, the comments... Some of it irritates Stiles, but most of it? Stiles actually likes it for some reason. Like, it's still attention, right? It's Peter thinking about him and talking about him, and if Peter truly did have a problem with him, Peter wouldn't be doing this.

Still, it's nice to hear that it's _not_ a criticism and some of the tension in Stiles' muscles lessens. He's all bared and bent over the back of Peter's couch (which is both hot and a little embarrassing to be so exposed). Waiting for Peter to get with the fucking is not the most calming of situations, but they're getting closer at least. Stiles' toes are wiggling, his fingers curling and uncurling as Peter's hot and silky cockhead rubs against his wet hole.

When Peter mentions that Stiles is lucky because of Peter's generous mood, Stiles' head snaps back and he raises an eyebrow at Peter as he looks over his shoulder.

"Excuse me? _I'm_ lucky?" Stiles begins. "Don't pretend you're all magnanimous, douchebag. I know you like fucking me."

* * *

Yes, this _is_ what had been missing before. As much as Peter had loved how pliant and desperate Stiles had been, Stiles' wit and intelligence had been sorely missed. Now, watching as Stiles looks incredulously over his shoulder like he can't believe that Peter had had the _audacity_ to say anything like that to him, Peter smirks down at him, charmed despite himself. He likes Stiles much better like this.

"Oh, I do. It's been awhile since I had someone so _thoroughly_ enamored with my knot," Peter says easily, a lick of tease in his voice. "And getting as wet as you do _does_ help. I was surprised you were able to take me so easily."

Peter lets that statement hang for a moment, lets the implication sink in. Then, before Stiles is fully able to wrap his head around it, Peter gives his cock another long, slow stroke and then lines himself up by feel alone. And, though he doesn't go quickly, he _does_ slowly feed the head of his cock into Stiles' hole, feeling the slick heat and tightness. Peter sighs low in his throat, because if Stiles had been tight before, he's even more so now.

"If I knot you like this, it might be some time before you let me go," he observes, amused, and intrigued by the idea. "You're tight. Does it hurt?"

* * *

It doesn't even strike Stiles that he should be watching his mouth while with Peter. Many Alphas get all, _how dare you sass_ _me_! with Omegas, but Stiles never held back before, so why start now? When Stiles was doing the Heat-thing, he wasn't exactly less opinionated, it's just the, _oh my god I gotta get fucked and knotted_ urge overpowered pretty much anything else.

Now Stiles is less fuzzy-headed and hormonally controlled and it's nice. Or something. If this is going to be a continuing thing, Stiles would rather set a precedent that this is how he's going to be and Peter can take it or leave it, okay. Stiles hopes Peter decides to keep taking it, so to speak.

It's likely a good sign that Peter just smirks back at him, but when Peter claims that he's _so thoroughly enamored_ with his knot, Stiles looks away. Enamored is _so_ not the word Stiles would choose to use. Peter's voice is almost sing-songy, talking about how _wet_ Stiles gets and that he was apparently surprised that Stiles was able to take his dick so easily? Stiles huffs. He's not really in a position to refute that claim.

The teasing of Peter's tip against his hole stops and no warning is given as Peter begins to press in. Stiles makes a surprised sound at the sudden stretch of his body working to accommodate the thick head of Peter's cock. His eyes slip shut as he focuses on breathing deeply in order to try and stay relaxed (not as easy as it seems like it should be).

An antsy part of Stiles wants to just push back and force things along - maybe remnants of his past Heat - but he doesn't. Stiles may be wet enough, but he hadn't been fingered as much this time around. There's also been less foreplay.

" _No_ ," Stiles quickly grits out - which is a lie. It does hurt a little, but it's not _bad,_ it's not as if Stiles wants it to stop. "I'm fine, yeah?"

* * *

Even had Peter not been a werewolf, it would have been obvious that Stiles was lying. Oh, Stiles isn't in a _lot_ of pain. He's not even in pain bad enough to stop and pull back, but Peter still drinks in the tightness around the head of his cock, and the tension in Stiles' body. He's like a vice, all slick and sweet and hot, and the urge to just bury his cock in Stiles' ass does rear its head, but Peter isn't looking to _hurt_ Stiles. He's merely looking to prove a point.

Stiles had asked him to just get on with it, so Peter had been more than willing to oblige. But that doesn't mean that it's without consequences. He can scent the slight spike of discomfort, the edge of pain, and he can hear Stiles' pulse skip in his lie, but Peter doesn't draw back. He'd taken his time the other day for a _reason._ Impatience has its consequences and something tells Peter that he's learning that.

Still, he does keep himself still, the head of his cock stretching Stiles' ass. He could have used a few more fingers and a few more orgasms to _really_ loosen up, but Peter suspects that the edge of intensity might be thrilling for Stiles. So, taking him at his word, Peter hums his understanding and slowly presses in just a little deeper. He doesn't go far - working his hips in slow, languid circles to help Stiles get used to the feeling.

And, because Peter _can_ be generous, he makes a point to reach down and around Stiles' body. He strokes his slick fingertips along Stiles' cock, thumb rubbing below the head, mindful of how sensitive Stiles must be.

"I _could_ lecture you on lying during sex but I doubt I need to. Something tells me you _like_ the edge of intensity. But if anything _does_ go too far, your safeword from before will suffice."

* * *

Stiles doesn't think Peter pushing into him had necessarily hurt the other night. He'd been sore after the whole affair - his hole sensitive, an ache deep inside, his body wrung out, muscles exhausted, throat scratchy and dry from all the moaning. Considering how many times he'd gotten off and how many things Peter had done _to_ him, Stiles thinks it makes sense. Anyone would have been tired and sore after all of that (and not anyone would even be able to do that, himself included. Heats are wild).

It also makes sense that it would hurt a little now. Given that Peter hasn't done as much prep. Not that Stiles thought it was _all_ prep during their first affair, he'd just assumed Peter wanted to tease the hell out of him...

Oh, Stiles knows that just a few minutes ago he'd been goading Peter to go ahead and do it, but he doesn't want to think about _this_ being some sort of _lesson_ , however. His hole stretches, discomfort flaring as Peter presses the thick head of his cock further in. Stiles' deeper breathing doesn't stop, but it hitches every once in a while as he fights with his body to try and remain calm and take it.

He's not backing out.

Because despite the slight discomfort, Stiles is still very much into this, his cock half hard and hanging between his legs. Peter leans over him, a hand reaching around to allow teasing fingers to fondle his dick. Stiles jerks slightly, oversensitivity battling with frissons of pleasure.

Peter's words do process - Stiles can use _Pineapple_ for Peter to stop (he does remember that safeword). But fuck that, he's not going to. Stiles trembles, his breathing labored, arousal still very much coursing through him.

"C'mon, Peter," Stiles murmurs, forcing himself to open his eyes and look back over his shoulder. He gives Peter a shaky but challenging grin.

* * *

The intelligent thing to do would be to ask him to wait. Peter isn't picky; he's not about to actually hurt Stiles. The rest of the pack - especially Scott - would have his head. Peter's half-expecting Stiles to chime in, to tell him to slow down, even to reach a hand back and push at him. To Peter's mutual surprise and interest, Stiles doesn't. Instead, Stiles' breathing hitches and jumps, stopping in places and speeding in others as Peter works his cock in slowly. He doesn't complain, doesn't jerk away, and Peter's reluctantly impressed.

Not even the touch to his cock - half-hard already - makes Stiles ask Peter to stop. No, he takes it well, shuddering with oversensitivity but still looking back over his shoulder at Peter, challenging and coy. And, really. Who is Peter to argue how stubborn Stiles wants to be? After all, he can still smell Stiles' arousal, and if push comes to shove - literally - he can take Stiles' pain away.

With a low hum, Peter leans down, nosing in against the side of Stiles' neck as he wraps his hand fully around Stiles' cock. He strokes slowly, mindful that Stiles _is_ going to need some time to adjust. But really, who would Peter be if he ignored a challenge like that?

"You _are_ stubborn, aren't you?" Peter says, though it sounds like a compliment. "But I suppose you _do_ like a bit of a struggle."

And, hand still slowly working Stiles' cock, Peter nudges his hips in closer, working his cock in slow thrusts. But when he judges the depth just right, he angles his hips to grind down against that sweet spot he'd spent the last few minutes fucking with his fingers. He is nothing if not giving.

* * *

Maybe this is a test. If it is, Stiles is going to pass with flying colors. He may be an Omega, but he's not a wimp. He doesn't need to be treated gently and carefully and he'll prove it to Peter.

Things are sensitive - his ass and cock included - but sensitive is grounding. Stiles knows he's awake and alive and going through this. It's Peter that's with him, Peter touching and teasing (but also giving Stiles a way out?). Stiles has heard the term _masochism_ before and maybe that fits him a little. He still wants Peter to fuck him. The pain is still pain, it's discomfort, but it's not overbearing. It's not too much. But Stiles isn't concerned with slapping any labels on himself. He likes what he likes.

In response to him, Peter's fingers curl around his dick and Stiles shakily exhales some of his building energy before looking back ahead. Peter's living room is all fancy and dick-ish and now the couch has Stiles' jizz on the back of it. Minor improvement, Stiles thinks. He wonders about getting more of Peter's things messy. It's a nice thought. Stiles tries to not wiggle, to hold himself still in order to help control the discomfort, but it's not easy to do.

It only gets more complicated as Peter's hand slowly strokes him while simultaneously pressing his own thick cock in deeper. It's a lot to take and Stiles hisses at the intensity, at the stretch necessary to allow it. He's fine and yeah, he likes the struggle that Peter's giving him. That struggle morphs into a sudden unexpected stab of sensitive-pleasure when Peter's cock nudges inside of him just right. Stiles nearly spasms, first pushing back before trying to perhaps ease away from sensation.

* * *

 _There_ it is. Peter smirks to himself even as his eyes slide closed for one exquisite second of pleasure. Stiles' hole tightens, clenching down and rippling along his dick as Peter hits his prostate just right, and really. Peter will _never_ understand those Alphas who only care about their own pleasure. Why deny such a sweet tightness? Why ignore how delicious the scent of an Omega in pleasure is? Peter shudders, letting out a low, approving groan.

But then Stiles moves. At first, he pushes back, chasing the sensitivity of the moment, but before Peter can get a word of praise in, Stiles suddenly begins to move ahead. He pulls away just enough for Peter to notice, and really. Peter can't have _that_.

Immediately, Peter's grip on Stiles' cock tightens. He gives it a small, warning squeeze and presses in closer, pinning Stiles against the couch and nudging his hips in just enough to grind his dick up against that sweet spot inside of him. Peter leans over him, the stubble on his cheek brushing roughly against Stiles' throat as Peter clicks his tongue in reprimand.

"Ah, no, none of that," he chides, thumb sliding up and down the slit of Stiles' cock until he knows it's sensitive. He feels Stiles' muscles twitch around him.

"You were being so good, Stiles, taking my cock so perfectly. You can do it. Look at you," he adds, his voice lowering in approval. After all, he knows how to praise. "Hole stretched and greedy, taking me in. I can _feel_ how hard this is making you... so ease up. Be good and I'll fuck you the way you need it. Act up, and I'll work that pretty cock of yours until it's so sensitive you'll be begging me to stop."

* * *

This prostate business isn't exactly new, but it is the first time with Peter _while_ not going through a magically-induced Heat and gagging for all of it. Going from discomfort to a lance of almost too-much pleasure? It's a lot to take in, okay! Stiles can't help that he wants a break, a small reprieve. So yes, he tries to stop it, tries to distance himself a little, and no, he's not really thinking about whether or not his actions are going to be allowed.

Does Peter let him? Of course not. It's only when Peter's fingers tighten around his cock in a reprimand that Stiles clues in. He's sandwiched against the couch, Peter draping over him, suddenly an immovable weight. Any possible panic doesn't even have time to rear its head because Peter's being deliberate again, angling his hips and rubbing inside of Stiles just right.

Stiles cries out, barely feeling the scratch of Peter's cheek. Against him, Peter feels like a furnace and Stiles' ass is both aching and tingling. But the disapproving tongue click focuseshim, as does Peter's thumb teasing the tip of his cock. Stiles bites back a whine of sensitivity, mouth clamped down hard as Peter talks.

And it _should_ encourage Stiles to do what gets him that silky approval, but his problematic brain takes it another way. Why be predictable? Stiles purposely clenches around that big cock inside of him. God, it still feels impossibly thick.

" _You_ want me to be good?" Stiles asks tightly, but amused. "I'd have thought you'd want a naughty little Omega to fit your bad boy persona."

* * *

Normally, Peter wouldn't be so bold, but he's reasonably sure that Stiles gets off on depravity. True, his only proof had been in that not-world, the little pocket of reality created for them by the deity in which time had supposedly ceased to exist outside of it. Peter knows that there's no guarantee that Stiles _actually_ likes what had happened in that false reality _outside_ of it, but who is he to deny himself the possibility of satisfaction? The risk - albeit great - is more than worth it, because if this works out, Peter knows _precisely_ how to work with Stiles.

And it is a beautiful reaction. Stiles cries out so sweetly and Peter can hear the little breathy sound that might have once been a whine as he grinds forward purposefully and works Stiles' cock into sensitivity. Peter knows that Stiles will go one of three ways. Either Stiles will call it quits - unlikely, given how desperate he'd been - or he'll bend and give in and let Peter guide him the way he had in that pocket of reality. _Or_ \- and as Peter listens to the sudden flutter of Stiles' pulse, he suspects he knows the answer - Stiles will push back.

To Peter's mutual delight and mild irritation, _that_ is what Stiles chooses. The sudden clench around his cock has a jolt of pleasure running hotly through him and Peter closes his eyes again, letting out a slow, even breath to maintain his own control. The desire to fuck into Stiles' ass and bury himself there is present, but Peter can still feel Stiles struggling with the stretch.

But. No matter. Peter's got a reputation to uphold. So, no sooner has Stiles chimed back, all disobedient and challenging - then Peter suddenly draws his free hand back and brings it down on Stiles' ass in a quick, open-palmed swat. It's not hard, but Peter had aimed to make Stiles feel it. Granted it does have the added bonus of Stiles' muscles clenching around him in surprise, but still.

Manners.

"Oh, I'll _have_ a naughty little Omega regardless," Peter says easily, gripping Stiles' cock and beginning to stroke, each pass of his hand purposeful and quicker. He _had_ promised, after all. "Because something tells me you _like_ this. You like pushing enough to get punished. You like the intensity. You _like_ the challenge. Though... I can't blame you." Peter leans in, pressing a biting kiss just under Stiles' ear.

"After all. You _do_ look so sweet when you're overwhelmed."

* * *

Nothing about Peter has ever screamed _cliche good guy ready to help and behave_. Peter may help them occasionally, but it's usually if he's bored or after the pack has already failed at something and Peter's the last option available (because the guy _never_ makes it easy, not even to ask for lore or advice).

By now, Stiles knows that he does like Peter's praise. It makes something flutter in his stomach, makes his chest feel warm and wanting more. Is it messed up to be pleased _by_ _Peter_ being pleased by him? Stiles doesn't know. He hasn't had enough experience with doing things of a romantic or sexual nature to have a baseline (and he isn't going to ask for Peter's opinion on the matter).

That said, is it smart to challenge Peter like this? Probably not, but Stiles has long prided himself in not being a traditional Omega. Why start now? While Stiles _has_ gotten off and the earlier frustration has waned, he wants to play more. Not that Stiles would admit, but he's been thinking about _all_ of this since their run in with the Pervy-Santa and it feels beyond gratifying to finally be having it.

Then Peter actually _spanks_ him - like he's some misbehaving kid. _What the--_? Stiles is first too shocked to form an opinion, but it stings and he jerks in response, but more out of surprise than actual pain. Then Peter's other hand begins stroking him fast - too fast - and Stiles winces at the lance of sensitivity. It's not completely great, his cock is still sore, but he still hardens from the arousal squirming through him.

Stiles can't refute Peter's claims either. He's still wet, he's almost fully hard and he isn't using his safeword. It's obvious enough that Stiles likes pushing and he likes doing this with Peter in particular. Everything points to that conclusion.

A kiss placed under his ear is new? It's only now that Stiles realizes they haven't kissed at all. At least not on the lips. Which kinda seems weird to him, but it's not important. Stiles has more pressing matters to attend to. Still aroused and reeling from Peter's fast touch to his cock and the almost unforgiving stretch, Stiles intently begins to rock back and wiggle as he can, fucking himself back on Peter's throbbing Alpha dick. Given that Peter's on top of him, Stiles' range of motion isn't fantastic, but he can at least do this much.

"Oh, yeah? Gonna make me look nice 'n sweet, Peter? Gonna get the naughty Omega bitch overwhelmed?" Stiles has never actually referred to himself as a bitch... but it just comes out.

* * *

Each step forward is one new risk and Peter can't help but feel thrilled that Stiles is being so bold. While he hadn't expected Stiles to be a cowardly Omega, or to pull back and apologize, he hadn't expected Stiles to take to to this _quite_ like he has. Though Peter is reduced to assessing Stiles' compliance by the sound of his breathing and his pulse, and the way that Stiles' greedy hole clenches around his cock, he thinks all of the signs are slowly pointing to _yes_.

Stiles _does_ like this. Stiles _does_ want this. Stiles _is_ hungry for whatever Peter deems fit to give to him, and the knowledge is like a small fire burning pleasantly in Peter's chest. Stiles' body clenches perfectly at the spank to his ass, and Stiles' muscles tremble when Peter jerks his cock back to hardness, but never once does Stiles consider using his safeword. Peter can hear his pulse; there's no uncertainty there. There's only want, and what an interesting realization that is...

Especially when it results in Stiles pushing back. Peter doesn't think he'll ever tire of a partner who refuses to merely lay there and take what he's willing to give. He's always been fond of those who push the boundaries. Stiles, to Peter's inward delight, is just such a partner. The way that Stiles immediately begins to wiggle and squirm back against him, as though hungry for Peter's dick _is_ a sight in and of itself. But what Stiles _says?_ That little slip? Oh, that speaks volumes.

"' _Naughty Omega Bitch'_ , hmm?" Peter repeats, his voice so low and satisfied that it's practically dripping with it.

It deserves a reward if nothing else, and so as Stiles goes quiet, undoubtedly realizing what he'd said, Peter braces his hand on Stiles' smarting asscheek and then rolls his hips in, slowly edging in deeper just because he _can_ , and because Stiles will take it. Peter keeps stroking Stiles' dick, working the pretty thing to hardness. After all, Stiles clearly likes it.

"Is that what you want, Stiles? You want to be my _bitch?_ I suppose it makes sense, in retrospect," Peter muses, rolling his hips in slow thrusts that he lets Stiles meet at his leisure. "You _are_ hungry for it. Insatiable. And with a pretty little cock like this, and with how _dripping_ wet you get, would you be suited for anything else?"

* * *

Stiles is in the motherfucking deep end here, okay. There's no doubt about it. Not only has he caved in and sought Peter out, Stiles is _still_ here despite getting off once. Dealing with his sexual frustration had been the primary reason for coming here (right?) and Stiles accomplished what he'd set out to do... but he's not throwing in the towel.

It doesn't matter that Peter's spanked him and Stiles isn't exactly sure how he feels about it, but this _now_? Peter apparently is going to punish him for being a brat and somehow Stiles is just like, he's really into it. So much so that Stiles apparently goes a step further and refers to _himself_ as a bitch.

A n _aughty Omega bitch,_ apparently. Omega activists everywhere are crying and cursing him out. Hopefully, no one ever hears about it. Any of it, really. Stiles is pretty sure that he doesn't want anyone to know about the things he's said or done with Peter, but unless they're super careful, the pack will eventually be able to put two and two together. Damn werewolf smelly powers.

Nonetheless, he's said it and Peter's heard it and fuck, Stiles can tell that Peter likes it too which only makes Stiles more into it. But God, Peter finally moves his hips a little, cock shifting deeper and making Stiles _really_ feel it. Somehow it's just all that much better when Peter's taking part in it too.

Maybe it's the memory of Peter fucking him days ago that does it. Stiles is hardly in the headspace to think about it, not with Peter's hand ruthlessly working his cock. It might be sensitive, but he thinks he's completely hard again.

Stiles continues to rock back, sounds of exertion mixing with pleasure. Peter is really laying it on thick, talking about him not being suited for anything else. Stiles' answering laughter is ragged but clearly delighted. If anything, he's spurred on.

" If I'm your bitch, you better fuck me like one," Stiles challenges as he renews the vigor in clenching around Peter's cock. "You can get me wetter, can't you? Get me harder?"

* * *

Peter is nothing if not accommodating. If this is what Stiles is into, or what he'd like to try, Peter is on board with it. After all, Stiles is being good. He hasn't pulled away, hasn't hissed and tried to shove Peter back. He taking each and every second of it despite the sensitivity and despite the stretch. Really, it's admirable, as each time Stiles clenches around his cock, it only makes it harder on him. Peter is nothing if not approving of Stiles putting himself out for Peter's sake.

Because Stiles _is_ still putting himself out. Despite being so tight, he's just clenching down all the more, making every roll of Peter's hips that much more difficult. He's so tight that it almost hurts and Peter basks in it; he'd never claimed to be above masochism either, but it's clear that Stiles enjoys the concept of intense sensation. So, when Stiles suddenly clenches down around him again, harder than before, and offers his next challenge, Peter groans his approval against Stiles' throat. Oh, he is _so_ grateful that Stiles is as desperate as he is.

"I'd better be able to get you wetter," Peter says against Stiles' throat, half-amusement, half-threat. "Because you're going to need it to take my knot, and we _both_ know how desperately you want that."

Peter is more than happy to oblige Stiles' request, though. And, though on the surface it might seem callous, Peter draws his hips back almost all the way. He groans at the delicious clenching around the head of his cock, marveling at Stiles' determination. But Stiles _had_ made a request, and Peter does know one way to get him wetter.

So, hand still stroking Stiles' cock to sensitivity, he reaches down to test Stiles' hole, making sure he won't _actually_ hurt himself. And, when he's satisfied, he thrusts back in, in one long, angled stroke. Peter pins Stiles against the couch as he begins to fuck him, careful, yes, but purposeful. He aims each thrust down, fucking against that over-worked sweet spot that he knows Stiles gets off on so hard.

* * *

Maybe there's some words or labels that all of this might fit under, but Stiles doesn't know. He's always been curious and enjoyed looking up shit - especially when it catches his attention. Given that he wasn't having any of the sex stuff before, he hadn't exactly known where to start or had that much of a vested interest. Plus, monsters and bad guys and supernatural threats were going on. But _oh_ , he has a vested interest now _._

Stiles is mostly just winging this with Peter. He's always thrived with being more hands on in regard to learning anyway - Peter's apparently his crazy crash course. Again. Because Stiles has come over here - _given in_ \- and he's going to damn well make sure all of this is amazing, even if that means challenging Peter.

He feels Peter's rather rewarding groan against his neck and Stiles concentrates on clenching around Peter's dick the best he can. He wants to make Peter sensitive too, wants to get Peter squirming if possible. Words surrounding the topic of getting wetter to take Peter's knot momentarily has Stiles unfortunately losing focus. He _does_ want to get knotted again so he can compare the experience. It's half for science! Mostly...

Peter then pulls back, his cock sliding almost out, and Stiles makes a disgruntled unhappy sound. Although it had stung a little and been uncomfortable, Stiles liked it and he wants Peter's cock filling him. He doesn't really get his mouth in working order to protest because Peter's other hand is still jerking him and that comes with a constant sensitive throb of pleasure. That only gets complicated by Peter suddenly pushing back inside and then expertly making contact with his prostate. A wrenched out, surprised cry leaves Stiles' mouth as he writhes under Peter.

"You. Fucker," Stiles grits out. It's not exactly intelligent, but it's all he can manage.

* * *

Oh, Peter knows exactly what he's doing. Stiles is so responsive and Peter can't help but play with that. Stiles has always been quick to respond and Peter's thrilled to know that it happens even during sex, and especially when Stiles isn't even in Heat. Yes, each delicious clench around his cock is tempting, but if he wants to knot Stiles properly, he _does_ need to make sure he's wet and relaxed enough to take it. So this isn't merely to satisfy Peter's mild sadism. It's to ensure that Stiles comes back for more after this.

And he will. All Peter needs to see is the desperation in Stiles' posture when he draws his hips back. He watches Stiles squirm, watches the protest and drinks in that small sound. And then, as Peter fucks back into Stiles' hole and feels the clench of Stiles' muscles, he smirks to himself. One more movement and--

Stiles cries out and Peter feels the harder clench around his dick. He grunts softly in the back of his throat, a softer, appreciative sound, and he closes his eyes as he begins to target that spot. Stiles writhes under him and curses him, but Peter's shameless in his satisfaction. He jerks Stiles off quickly and once he thinks Stiles can take it, Peter sets up a quicker, grinding rhythm, feeling Stiles' body react appropriately. The scent of arousal spikes, and when Peter draws his hips back fully only to snap them back forward again, he hears the wet sound of Stiles' slick. The glide is easier and Peter chuckles under his breath, his cheek pressed to Stiles' throat.

"There you go," he praises, honest but still with a hint of that teasing he's known for. "That's what I want to feel. Get nice and wet for me, Stiles. That's my good bitch."

* * *

If - okay, _when_ \- they do this again, will it go like this? All snark and attitude? The pushing and taunting and Peter manhandling him? Sure, Stiles really likes it, but he's got no idea if this is how things are supposed to go? His classes never showed this, the instructional videos always seeming so clinical and cheesy while modeling traditional positions and behavior. Stiles may like what he's doing with Peter and how they're doing it, but he can't help but be curious about how things will be the _next_ _time_.

Because Stiles really wants there to be a next time - because there's more stuff he wants to do and try. A lot more stuff. Besides, he barely got to touch or do anything to Peter and that kind of seems like something that should change. For his education, remember? Not because he wants to, not because Peter's all that hot...

But Stiles isn't really thinking about any of this right now because Peter's thrusting in just right and Stiles is getting wetter and hotter and more fidgety. He's focused on getting Peter to knot him. It's now his goal. Peter's hand keeps stroking his dick and Stiles is kind of in awe how something overwhelming can be so good? But it is? Somehow?

It's when Peter says ' _my good bitch_ ' that Stiles seems to come undone. "

Oh?" He begins bucking back the best he can, encouraging and pushing for more. "Am I? Am I your good bitch?" Stiles' toes curl as he begins to shake from the liquid heat racing through him. "Gonna knot me, _Alpha_?"

Stiles has never talked like this before. He has no idea if Peter will even like it or get pissed, but honestly both reactions have an appeal. Clenching and wiggling give Stiles something to focus on, even if Peter is fucking him into jelly.

* * *

Oh, being so blatant carries a bit of risk with it but Peter doesn't care. What's life without a little risk? Besides, Stiles reacts so beautifully to any sort of dirty talk that Peter can't help it. It's in his nature to push the boundaries of what is acceptable and what isn't, and seeing Stiles fall apart because Peter's talked him into it is a good feeling. Peter feels a satisfied sort of pleasure burn low in his chest and when he feels Stiles clench around him and then push back, he groans his praise into the back of Stiles' neck.

Peter intends to pin Stiles there and fuck him into coming; he knows he's capable of it because he'd done it to Stiles before. But before he can make his choice and shove Stiles down, Stiles begins to shake under him and then he pushes back. But it's what he says - challenge and taunt at the same time - that has Peter's attention sharpening. He looks down at Stiles, feeling a surge of something hotter and possessive and _right_ in his chest.

"I am. You're my good bitch," Peter confirms, leaning in to scrape his teeth over Stiles' neck. "But you'll _really_ be good when you take my knot the way you did before. Come on," Peter adds, coaxing, maybe a little taunting as he fucks forwards enough and finally lets himself bottom out enough for Stiles to feel the slight swelling of his knot. It's nowhere near big enough to catch yet but the threat _of_ it is there. Peter grinds his hips forwards, jerking Stiles' cock quicker.

"You want it so bad, why not work for it a little bit, _Omega?_ Go on. Push back. Work your muscles. Show me you want it."

* * *

This wasn't what Stiles had in mind. Taunting Peter, talking about being a _bitch_ even? Maybe Stiles has a lot to think about after this. For starters, does he actually _like_ this kind of thing? Apparently? Maybe? He's still aroused, still into this, but he's not sure how much of it has to do with Peter's dick up his ass, his cock being stroked or the weird dirty talk.

But shit, he must like it, because when Peter just flat out says that Stiles is _his_ good bitch, Stiles' stomach tightens, his fingers claw at the couch and he half hopes he wrecks the damn thing. Sex-wrecking Peter's couch sounds awesome, okay. Stiles would love to see the look on Peter's face after he noticed it (provided that Peter didn't throw him out, but c'mon, it'd be Peter's fault too).

Maybe Stiles shouldn't like being Peter's good bitch, but he does _now,_ and Peter goes on talking about Stiles taking his knot and fuck, Stiles _really_ wants that. He wants to make Peter do it, wants Peter to not be able to _not_ do it. And it might be weird but Stiles thinks he can feel Peter's knot start to swell. Peter's words are like dumping fuel onto the fucking fire and Stiles goes to it.

He does push back, clenching around Peter's hard cock and doing nothing to stop the cries of desperation and effort it takes. Peter's hand continues to work his sensitive-dick and while it may hurt a little, the intensity more than makes up for it.

* * *

Every step that they take here is one closer to the inevitable edge. Whether that edge will result in Stiles giving in and giving Peter what he wants, or Stiles suddenly unable to handle this anymore and pushing Peter away, Peter doesn't know. What he does know is that it's worth the risk to figure it out. If there's a chance that Stiles will let Peter knot him like this - that Stiles will willingly give in to this and prove that this is something he _wants_ \- then Peter is going to take it.

Stiles doesn't disappoint. Peter isn't typically an overly-vocal partner aside from talking, but there's nothing he can do to stop the groan in his throat when Stiles does what Peter had told him to. Stiles clenches around Peter's growing knot and works himself back like it's the last bit of strength that he has. Peter, caught off guard by Stiles' clear enthusiasm, stills his hips and breathes slowly, drawing back just enough to look down between them. He watches as Stiles pushes back onto his cock, watches Stiles roll and jerk his hips, fucking himself back on Peter's cock.

Peter doesn't stop stroking Stiles' dick. He drinks in every one of Stiles' cries like a fine wine, and bit by bit, Peter feels himself getting closer to his own edge. He grits his teeth, the base of his cock beginning to swell as arousal curls low in his stomach. Stiles pushes back and when he draws forward again, fucking into Peter's fist, Peter feels his knot catch just a little.

"Last chance," Peter warns, breathing harder. He fucks back into Stiles twice, not enough to bottom out, but close. Stiles can undoubtedly feel Peter's knot pressing against his hole. "If you don't want me to knot you, best say so now."

* * *

Stiles likes everything about this and if that makes him some depraved hoe, so be it! Bring it on. In this, he can be Peter's bitch. He's young and raring to go and Peter's available and they obviously hit it off and their biology is all ' _woohoo, go for it!'_

Besides, the sound that Peter makes? That almost growly-groan? That's because of him and Stiles likes being the cause of it. Jeans still tangled around his ankles, shirt still on, Stiles has lost track of all time. If he backed up and looked down, he'd be able to see his spunk against the back of Peter's couch. He wonders if Peter can still smell it, or if the scent of his slick or arousal overpower it. Maybe he'll ask Peter later.

He's only somewhat aware that he can feel Peter's knot beginning to thicken, the stretch just _a bit_ more all of a sudden. And Stiles is so close to getting it again, to being able to find out what it feels like and how different it is. It's exciting.

Peter gives him one last chance, but Stiles doesn't think when he says, "no, don't do it."

But he knows he wants to catch Peter off guard and Stiles _is_ able to say no because he's not in his Heat. Before he gives in, he wants Peter to _want_ it.

* * *

It's an arbitrary offer. Peter doesn't actually expect Stiles to say no. It's a polite noise that he'd made, akin to thanking someone for something that they would have done anyway simply to maintain the illusion of politeness. This close, Peter can feel the deep ache in his knot, can feel how close he is to burying himself in Stiles' body and locking them together. He's already picturing Stiles' resulting cries, already remembering the clench of Stiles' body from last time.

Stiles is into it; he's engaged. Peter can tell that _he's_ close. So when he fucks back into Stiles' wet hole and feels the ghost of pressure against his knot, he tenses to drive himself forward--

But then Stiles breathlessly tells him _not_ to do it, and Peter _is_ caught off guard. The mindless pleasure he'd been chasing suddenly needs a sense of consciousness and just like that, Peter's hips still. He lets out a low snarl, his hand leaving Stiles' cock to grab hard at the back of his couch for grounding, but he doesn't drive his knot home.

The ache of _so close_ is there, right on the edge, and Peter growls low in his throat as he leans in, burying that growl in against Stiles' shoulder as he closes his eyes tight and fights back against his own instincts.

"Stiles," Peter grits out, torn viscerally between being furious and impressed. He knows _exactly_ what Stiles is doing. "Trying your hand... at control? How very opportunistic." But even though Peter gets the words out, his instincts keep snarling at him to move, to take.

* * *

Of course Stiles _wants_ to get knotted. He wants to examine and explore the experience to the best of his ability given his hormone-addled body. Stiles also wants to come again (especially if it means decorating Peter's couch with another deposit). Just 'cause Stiles has gotten off once doesn't mean that a second time is gonna feel lesser. The second time would involve Peter's dick and knot and yeah, Stiles tingles all over just thinking about it.

But Peter's been all smug and cocky and while that's normal for Peter, it's not as if Stiles is a complete pushover. He doesn't wanna be. Yes, he was the one to come over and ask for it, but that doesn't mean that _Peter_ can't ask now.

Because maybe Peter's been acting like this is _only_ for Stiles, like Peter's being all magnanimous and helping him out, like some bro. And they're not bros. Scott's his bro. Derek is a reluctant bro. Liam is a little bro. This thing with Peter is because they _both_ want it and want each other, and Stiles is gonna be damned if Peter doesn't admit it too.

Despite how much of an asshole Peter may come across as, Peter listens and doesn't knot him. Oh, Peter sounds super _pissed_ off about it and Stiles can't even fully enjoy the exasperation he's causing because _his body_ isn't thrilled by being denied either. Stiles' breath shudders as Peter folds over him, his face pressed against him, a displeased growl muffled into his skin.

"Say _please_ ," Stiles challenges. "Tell me you want it too. Then you can."

Because Stiles' pride _can't_ do this if it's not Peter giving him this little bit back.

* * *

Peter has half a mind to simply wrap a hand around Stiles' neck and force the issue, but despite the more violent, less-put-together impulse, he doesn't actually _do_ it. His instincts are snarling at him, torn in both directions, because the desire to knot and come are definitely high, but so too are the instincts that push him to satisfy the Omega under him. And in this ridiculous, _impossible_ scenario, _satisfying_ Stiles is actually refraining from knotting him.

Peter's dick aches with the desire to push, but he keeps his hips still save for small, abortive twitches. He's going to have a little _talk_ with Stiles about this later, because this close, Peter can scent how strong Stiles' arousal is, can feel the way he keeps squirming in need. His body language is practically screaming that he wants to be knotted, but he's always been clever.

Fuck it. Peter's impressed. He's pissed, but he's impressed. And when Stiles shudders under him and then breathlessly issues his challenge, Peter considers denying on principle. He's not a man to beg for what he wants, but coming with his knot buried in a willing body is always preferable to coming without the added stimulation. Besides, despite being pissed, he really is impressed at Stiles' cunning and his risk of self-sacrifice. Never let it be said that Peter doesn't reward good behavior.

"Please, Stiles," he growls against the back of Stiles' neck, voice slow, purposeful, and pointedly enunciated.

"You should know I want this. Really, I wouldn't have let you in if I didn't. Still impressed, though."

Peter rolls his hips, his knot thick enough to press threateningly against Stiles' hole without going in. Oh, he could push, could fuck Stiles senseless, but if Stiles wants his control so badly, he can knot himself.

* * *

Stiles is aware that Peter might not respond to this favorably. Stiles gets that it's kind of a jerk thing to do and he can tell Peter is struggling (but also doing an amazing job at holding himself back too). Pissed off, Peter might pull out completely and throw Stiles out of his place. Stiles can actually picture it - boxers and jeans tangled around his ankles as Peter promptly drags him to the door and throws him out on his wet ass before slamming the door all theatrically. Which would be awkward. And totally suck.

Because Stiles isn't really ready for this to be done yet. He doesn't _want_ to be done with Peter. Because things have been really good and there's more stuff Stiles wants to do and try and he's pretty sure Peter would be up for trying stuff because as much as an asshole as Peter can be, Peter's proving that he has some discipline here and now because he's listening to Stiles. That kind of thing really matters and it's because Peter took care of him with the whole Pervy-Santa thing that Stiles sorta trusts the guy.

Just a bit.

Stiles is amped, his fingers fidgeting, body sweaty and waiting for what it wants. They're so close - he's so close - but level-headed (at least as much as he can be) - Stiles doesn't take back his request. Stiles wants Peter to say please and wants Peter to want and admit it.

But... Peter does it. Peter actually says please. And _fuck,_ it sounds so hot. Stiles wishes he could record it and then he could play it back whenever Peter gets all high and mighty. He's breathing quickly through his nose as Peter tries to dampen what he's done by getting all practical about it, but it's still enough. Peter did it and satisfaction slithers happily through Stiles.

And then Peter purposely shifts against him and Stile' toes curl because he feels the beginnings of Peter's knot and it's _there_ and just waiting for him and Stiles knows what Peter wants _him_ to do.

Stiles doesn't make them wait. With a smug grunt, he pushes back with intent and the stretch intensifies as Peter's thickening knot pops inside of him. Stiles then clenches around it as tightly as he can, persistent and encouraging for Peter to knot and come.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Stiles grits out.

* * *

Peter is a proud man, but pride has a time and a place. Like this, just barely hovering on the edge, he can give into what Stiles wants. If it's the only way he'll get to knot Stiles properly, Peter's not about to jeopardize that, and besides, if the way that Stiles' breathing quickens when Peter _does_ say please is any indication, Stiles will only get off on this harder.

Which is precisely what Peter wants. He watches, pleasure prickling along his spine as Stiles visibly gears himself up, and then, just like that, Stiles pushes back. He's greedy with it, insistent, chasing the stretch of Peter's knot, and the moment that Peter feels himself bottom out, he knows there's no going back. He groans low in his throat, the sound rough and approving, and then Stiles goes one step beyond.

He _clenches_ down around Peter's knot, and the pleasure of it has Peter cursing under his breath. His knot grows, filling Stiles' body, locking them together, and Peter distantly hears Stiles' attitude, but he's not concerned. Instead, with a low, tighter growl, Peter leans in enough to pin Stiles bodily to the couch. He jerks his hips forward, hard enough to almost grind Stiles' cock against the back of the couch, because while Peter can't really thrust quick with his knot, he _can_ thrust deep and grind in.

He doesn't give Stiles time to catch his breath. Peter snaps his hips forward, his knot tugging at Stiles' hole every time he moves them back, but each time he only drives in harder. He doesn't spare Stiles anything, fucking and grinding his knot against Stiles' prostate, leaving Stiles' own cock to rub uselessly against the back of his couch. He feels his own pleasure build, feels the first pulse of it begin to surge over him, and Peter snarls, leaning in to give Stiles one last little bit of instruction.

"Come on, Stiles. Come for your Alpha like a good little bitch."

* * *

Maybe Stiles getting hot and bothered by Peter saying _please_ is weird, but it's apparently a thing he's into. It's not as if Peter ever says it a lot (other than an exasperated ' _oh please_ ' type of way). Later, Stiles will replay the moment in his head, he'll try and remember how ' _please, Stiles'_ sounded, and he'll wonder what _else_ he could possibly make Peter do. And maybe he'll get off on it.

But now he's working his ass as much as his strung out body can because it's not like this is easy on him either. Being so close, getting fucked by an Alpha he wants, and then denying himself the exact thing he's after? It's like torture in a way. A sweet torture but worth it.

Because Peter does _knot_ him and this time Stiles is actually with it. His knees shake, legs feeling suddenly wobbly with relief, but there's no way he's falling as Peter's locked inside him and grinding his knot ruthlessly against him. Stiles is trapped between Peter and the couch, his cock fully hard now and rubbing its wet head against the material of the couch. Stiles' body shakes, muscles seizing in a pleasure that almost winds him. And then Peter's growled words hit him.

_'Come for your Alpha like a good little bitch.'_

With a gasp, Stiles does just that, cock spurting and his body clenching hungrily around Peter's knot that's pressed up so perfectly within him.

* * *

There's no coming back down from this. Peter knows he can easily reach down and jerk Stiles off if he doesn't come immediately, but there's a deep, pulsing awareness that Stiles is as close as he is. And, really, Peter's a vain man. If he can get Stiles coming on nothing but his cock, he'll call it a good day, especially seeing as he's already wrung one powerful orgasm out of Stiles.

And Stiles doesn't disappoint. Peter has a half a second to feel the way that Stiles' muscles suddenly flutter and clench around his knot. Then they lock tight as Stiles gasps and Peter's snarl fades to a soundless breath as he grinds in deep. His cock throbs as orgasm rips through him, strong and fucking _perfect_. It's been days since he'd knotted Stiles for the first time, and as hot as having an Omega in Heat locked around him had been, Peter is partial to _this_.

He's partial to Stiles' attitude, his tightness, his desperation. To the way that he clutches desperately at the couch as his cock paints the back of it in his scent - a scent that Peter already knows won't come out of the material for a _long_ time. He's partial to the knowledge that Stiles had pushed back, that he'll continue to push back the way he _should._

Pleasure all but claws its way down his spine as Peter rolls his hips, pinning Stiles down, feeling the rhythmic clenching around his knot, like Stiles is trying to milk him dry. And, because he can, and because he _should_ , Peter lowers his head down and presses his lips to the juncture of Stiles' neck and shoulder. Without waiting for permission, he bites down there and sucks. It's not his fangs, it's not a mating bite, but it _is_ a claim.

They'll be stuck here for awhile; he might as well make the most of it.


	4. Decorations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's another dirty chapter for ya'll to enjoy! 😎
> 
> As of right now, we definitely have one more chapter planned, but we'll see if we keep getting depraved ideas xD

* * *

* * *

Stiles isn't certain if _this_ is the most embarrassing thing he's done with Peter to date. He's actually not sure if he even wants to think about it. Their list is long and continues to grow. Given how the fucking started - blackmailed by some deity and Stiles forced into a Heat - it's not entirely surprising how things have devolved. Peter, the pompous asshole he is, had been right. A knotted dildo wouldn't do it. Stiles' body, even while not in a Heat, wants Peter. Before "the incident," there were flirty looks but neither one of them acted on it. Now? Now it's impossible to not act on it.

They have sexual chemistry, so why shouldn't Stiles seek out Peter? They have a good time getting nasty. A _really_ fucking good time even. It's not always Stiles initiating either - sometimes it's Peter who can't wait to taste him and Stiles loves those instances.

Peter had taken care of him during their fuck-or-die situation and Stiles had sought him out after. Again and again. Rinse and repeat.

Despite present circumstances, Stiles' smaller Omega cock is still hard and proudly jutting out. He's naked and looking at himself in Peter's antique full-length mirror. His cheeks are slightly flushed, eyes wide.

"You're a pervert," Stiles states, but it's a weak protest at best. They both can see that he's hard and Peter can smell that he's wet. Next to him, Peter is appraising what he's just done.

Tied around the base of Stiles' cock is a sky blue silk ribbon fashioned into a snug bow. Stiles can actually handle _that_ , but what's hanging from the ribbon are two little bells resting on the underside against his cock. And every time he moves they give a stupid little jingle.

But Stiles doesn't reach down and free himself from Peter's "additions." He stares forward at his reflection, fingers fidgeting by his sides.

* * *

By rights, nothing should have changed. Were Peter a good man, he would have let the incident with the deity become nothing more than a memory, but he's never been a _good_ man. Selfish and hedonistic are modifiers that he wears with pride, and really, why look a gift horse in the mouth? Sex with Stiles has been _perfect,_ and he's felt no need to call it quits. Why would he, when he has the promise of a sweet hole and an enthusiastic Omega warming his sheets?

Besides, Stiles is smart, and he's adventurous. Both of those qualities have made for memorable nights. It's good, it's relatively simple, and bit by bit, Peter has begun to really narrow in on what Stiles likes.

Which means that as Peter ties the blue silk ribbon around the base of Stiles' cock and hears the first faint jingle of the bells underneath, he knows that tonight is going to be one to remember. He doesn't even need to look at Stiles to know how aroused he is. Yes, he can feel it in how hard Stiles' cock is, but Peter can _smell_ Stiles' arousal, as well as his slick. He can hear the pounding of Stiles' pulse, and how quick his breathing is as Stiles looks at himself in the mirror.

Peter inwardly congratulates himself for even _finding_ the mirror a few weeks ago. He'd suspected that it would be appreciated, and if the way that Stiles' cock twitches under Peter's touch is any indication, Stiles likes it.

"Mm. Guilty as charged. Though something tells me that you're not all that bothered," Peter says, stepping in closer. He presses himself along Stiles' back, bare chest against Stiles' skin, and the soft denim of his jeans still likely scratching at the backs of Stiles' thighs.

"I was right, though. The ribbon _is_ a nice accent for such a pretty little cock."

Despite the softer whisper into Stiles' ear, Peter slides his hand back down, loosely wrapping his fingers around Stiles' dick. He's not _small_ by Omega standards, the head of his cock poking out from the top of Peter's fist, but Peter hasn't forgotten the fact that Stiles seems oddly into a little humiliation. Who is he to judge? He smirks at Stiles in the mirror.

"Might as well look as pretty as it can, considering it's more or less decoration. Shame, really," Peter muses. "I might have let you fuck me, but you're so sensitive, you come at the slightest touch."

* * *

Maybe this should strike Stiles as depraved or at least odd to partake in, but he's been messing around with Peter for a bit now and it's always been good. It's also been intense and dirty because Peter is like some kinky sex God or something (not that Stiles would ever tell him that). Maybe this is weird - Stiles doubts that his friends get up to shit like this - but he's into it. Obviously. Peter's never done anything that _hasn't_ riled him up...

The ribbon is one thing. Given that lingerie is a thing, Stiles gets it. Panties are like decoration and the ribbon is too. It's the freakin' _bells_ attached that Stiles is on the fence about - or at least he thinks he should be on the fence about. And it's why he calls Peter a pervert.

And Peter is more of a pervert than him because _this_ ribbon and bell get up had been all Peter's idea. Maybe Stiles is just aroused because this is with Peter and being naked with Peter brings delightful things. Case in point, when Peter settles behind him, Peter's chest warm and firm against his back and Peter's crotch against his ass and Stiles tenses in anticipation. It still amazes him that his body eagerly reacts like it does with Peter. It's like he has some flashing memory that goes off, a reminder that he's been knotted and satisfied by this Alpha in particular.

Stiles likes how Peter looks behind him, his gaze focusing on Peter instead of the ribbon-bell thing he's got going on. That becomes much harder to do when Peter leans in and starts talking about Stiles' _pretty_ _little_ _cock_. Now, Stiles has no idea why he's into it, but it's kinda become a thing for them that Peter revisits from time to time. Apparently now is one of those times.

Stiles' face heats, his eyes dropping down at his decorated cock. In comparison to Peter's Alpha dick, it is much smaller. And _why_ does that turn Stiles on? No idea, but he bites his bottom lip with a whine as Peter's fingers come to wrap around his dick, the bells jingling faintly. From the mirror's reflection he can see Peter's trademark smirk. Not new. What is new and catches Stiles off guard is the _mention_ of Peter possibly letting Stiles fuck him.

He may be an Omega, but his dick still works. Omegas can fuck other Omegas and even Betas. Technically they could fuck an Alpha too, but it's not at all the norm and most Alphas are against it.

Stiles doesn't even have time to process Peter's musing because Peter _goes on_ and claims that Stilescomes really easily and that would be a problem. Stiles' jaw clenches, indignation surging up and _trying_ to beat the flood of embarrassed arousal that washes over him. He shakes and the bells sound.

"I could do it," Stiles stubbornly insists. "I don't always get off quickly."

* * *

It's an extreme social taboo to even _hint_ at what Peter has, but since when has he cared about decorum? An Alpha being fucked is a social taboo in and of itself, but to have an _Omega_ do it? It's a niche, often shameful porn genre as far as society is concerned, and while Peter wouldn't let just _anyone_ fuck him, watching what the suggestion does to Stiles makes it worth it.

He smirks to himself, listening to the faintest jingle of the bells under Stiles' dick, and he savors the feeling of Stiles' cock throbbing in his palm at the very idea.

Listening to that soft whine that Stiles fails to bite back is enough to tempt Peter into dropping to his knees and eating Stiles out again, but he holds in the urge for now. Watching the way that Stiles' expression pinches at the suggestion that he could never _succeed_ because he'd come too quickly is more interesting at present. So, while Peter can scent Stiles' arousal and practically feel the slick soaking through the front of his jeans, Peter makes a point of sending Stiles a doubtful glance in the mirror.

He drops his gaze to Stiles' cock, to the flushed head poking out from his fist, and when Peter strokes it once, he makes a point to let the bells jingle obviously. Stiles' odd arousal in response to humiliation is quickly becoming one of Peter's favorite things.

"Really now," Peter muses, thumbing Stiles' slit thoughtfully, as though it's merely something for him to play with. "The evidence seems to speak to the contrary. Though... I suppose if you could _prove_ it, I might consider."

Peter draws his hand back, and while the smart thing to do would be to go and grab the lube, why bother when he has such a perfect supply right in front of him? He reaches between them and pointedly draws his fingers between Stiles' crack, petting over his hole and gathering his slick up. When Peter deems his hand nearly slick enough, he pulls it back, admiring the glistening wet on his hand, and lifts it to Stiles' mouth, smirking.

"Spit. I think a demonstration is in order, wouldn't you say?"

* * *

Stiles hasn't thought about fucking anyone else - because, until recently Stiles hadn't even been fucked himself. Given that he's an Omega, he's got a natural leaning toward wanting to get fucked. It's only been toys and now Peter that've done it too. Peter's fingers, tongue and dick are much better than the stuff Stiles has experimented with. Toys just don't cut it anymore. There's something about an Alpha or Peter's attention and involvement that makes all of the sex stuff better.

Yeah, technically it's like scandalous or something for an Omega to fuck an Alpha, but Stiles thinks that roles and rules can be bent here and there. If both partners consent and want it, why not? Stiles isn't here to police and judge what other people do in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the living room. Or the shower. Because Peter and Stiles happen to get around a lot...

Stiles wonders if Peter's been fucked before and by who. It definitely wouldn't be another Alpha, right? But maybe a Beta? A silly part inside of Stiles wants to know - wants to ask - and wants to say that he could do it better.

...Which Stiles doesn't know for sure because he's only been on the receiving end of getting dicked, he's never done the giving.

But he'd totally try. But is Peter even being serious? The pad of Peter's thumb rubs over his slit, easily coaxing out a bead of pre-come. Stiles tries to listen to Peter's words, but he can see how he looks in the mirror - flushed and completely pliant for Peter, his hopeful cock decorated but now held loosely within Peter's fist. He's naked, but Peter isn't. Stiles is pressing back, likely leaking against Peter's jeans (one of his favorite things to do because he likes the idea of _him_ lingering).

Peter brings up something about _proving it_ and Stiles' nose squinches in confusion. He doesn't know where this is going. Peter's fingers unwrap from his cock, questing to gather up slick while Stiles' hole flutters in invitation from the brief attention. That attention doesn't go anywhere because Peter's wet fingers are _looked_ at. Peter's done this before - shown Stiles how wet he gets, made Stiles watch as Peter licked off slick-drenched fingers...

But Peter wants him to _spit_ on his palm. To add to the wetness already there. Stiles' stomach clenches, unsure if he's turned on or what, but he's not going to back down. He never does.

So he spits on Peter's palm, bells jingling happily as they dangle.

* * *

It is - as many things between them have been over the last few months - a challenge.

Stiles has risen to quite a few challenges in the past. As have certain parts of his anatomy that Peter takes _great_ pleasure in teasing mercilessly. Yet the understanding is always there that if Stiles ever wants to call it quits, if he ever wants Peter to stop and change directions, he's more than welcome to ask. Or, in extreme cases, to _tell_. Peter might love challenging Stiles and pushing his boundaries. He might love watching Stiles strung out and desperate, might even like making him cry with it when he can't handle it anymore, but he doesn't want Stiles _distressed_.

An unhappy Omega defeats the purpose of fucking one. Besides, Stiles is no ordinary Omega, with his quick wits, daring, and his gall to challenge Peter right back. It's delightful.

So, when Peter lifts his hand to Stiles' face and tells him what to do, he _is_ curious to see if Stiles will comply. Like this, Peter can watch the flicker of conflicting emotions on Stiles' face. He can see the way he hesitates, uncertain, clearly battling with himself. But so too can he smell Stiles' arousal, the thick, heady scent of sweetness permeating his bedroom.

Stiles' bells give a faint jingle of fanfare, and then Stiles leans in and spits on Peter's palm. Peter smirks at him and leans in, nosing in against Stiles' neck and scraping a biting kiss over the pale line of his nape.

"Such a perfect little Omega," Peter praises against Stiles' neck. "Even when you're confused, you don't back down. A delightful quality. Now..."

Peter curls his hand, rubbing Stiles' saliva against his fingers until the slick is even wetter. Then, meeting Stiles' eyes in the mirror, Peter lowers his hand to Stiles' cock and wraps his fingers around it. Except this time, he makes a point to keep his grip tighter, enough to simulate more than _just_ a hand.

"Prove to me that you could last if I let you fuck me. Show me how you'd do it," Peter instructs, his voice low and smooth against Stiles' ear. "Go ahead, Stiles. Satisfy me."

* * *

Not that they've really had many discussions about boundaries or limitations, but Stiles does actually feel comfortable with Peter. Stiles has a pseudo safeword anyway - _pineapple_. It's the word he'd picked during their crazy first time to signal for Peter to stop fucking around and knot him. Stiles hasn't used it once. Thankfully their likes seem to line up. Peter and him seem to line up and Stiles doesn't know what to think about that.

Spitting in Peter's hand isn't inherently sexy or dirty, but somehow it strikes Stiles as _both_ of those things. Peter's spit on his dick and hole before and Stiles' spit has been all over Peter's cock, but Stiles hasn't ever been directed _to_ spit. Maybe it's the direction thing. Or maybe it's an Alpha thing. Either way, his heart is thundering in his chest and his cock is still hard.

Thoughts of fucking Peter tumble around in Stiles' mind. How would it feel? Similar to having Peter suck him off? That perfect wet heat around him? Peter's praise pulls Stiles out of his thinking.

The shit Peter says to him - calling him a perfect little Omega - makes Stiles want to squirm. He doesn't want to like it, but he does. In the reflection of the mirror, Stiles watches Peter rub his spit and slick together and then that wet hand is coming to his decorated cock, fingers wrapping around it. Stiles tenses in expectation.

But Peter's grip is tight and wet and he doesn't move his hand. _Oh_. This is supposed to mimic Stiles fucking Peter. Heat streaks through him, but that's not the only thing. Peter had mentioned _lasting_ and _satisfying_ _him_ and Stiles is unsure if he can do either. What if his dick is too small? But that only matters if he proves himself _now_...

By fucking into Peter's fist. With the stupid ribbon and bells on his dick.

"You really _are_ a pervert," Stiles mutters before drawing his hips back and fucking forward, bells sounding in accompaniment.

His hands come to wrap around Peter's wrist, looking for some anchor point. While he has thrust into Peter's mouth or during a handjob, this is different. Peter's grip is vice-like and his hand doesn't move. This is supposed to be a hole he's supposed to fuck and every single deviant thing about this situation turns Stiles on.

* * *

Peter's aware that this _could_ go poorly if Stiles' mood isn't perfect, but it's well worth the risk. Over the last few minutes, Peter has worked Stiles up sufficiently. Tying the ribbon around his dick had been enough to get Stiles flushing, and considering it's a delicate silk that brushes against Stiles' dick whenever he moves, it's enough to tease mercilessly.

Stiles hasn't tapped out of it yet. He's taken every second of Peter's so-called perversion and he's thrilled at every moment. Really, it does beg the question of who the _real_ pervert is, but Peter's not about to mix semantics.

Not when Stiles looks so deliciously embarrassed and aroused as Peter wraps his hand around Stiles' cock. Stiles' mutter is a faint, easily-dismissed protest and Peter hums a soft note of shameless agreement in the back of his throat. He _is_ a pervert and he's fine with that. Besides, considering how aroused Stiles smells, Peter doubts he's alone in this.

There's something _ridiculously_ hot about Stiles reaching down and bracing his hands on Peter's wrist before jerking his hips forward. Peter quietly judges Stiles' strength, and while he _had_ initially indicated it as a moment to engage Stiles' humiliation kink, Peter wonders if maybe this is an angle that he _should_ take. Stiles' dick isn't overly _small_ after all, and if Stiles wound up responding well to the treat, who knows _what_ Peter could entice him into doing? It's definitely a pleasant thought, one that makes Peter's own dick ache with arousal.

"That's it, Stiles," Peter murmurs quietly, leaning in enough to whisper into Stiles' ear as Stiles fucks into his fist. "Just like that. Just picture it. _Feel_ it. Hear it," Peter adds with a rakish smirk, because the faint jingling of the bells under Stiles' cock is enough to make Peter hot.

* * *

It begs to question, just how far things could go with Peter? How depraved is Peter and what does it say about Stiles that he's still seeing him regularly? Stiles can't see himself stopping anytime soon either. Why would he? They've got a really good thing going on. It's not serious or anything, but it _is_ hot. Stiles is always satisfied (even if he has to put up with Peter boasting). Peter is his learning experience. It makes sense to figure this stuff out as much as he can with Peter. Then Stiles will be experienced for any future partners.

Not that Stiles is thinking about anyone else right now. How could he? He's seeing himself fuck Peter's fist and his cock is all pretty and decorated...

Stiles doesn't need to hold onto Peter's wrist to steady anything. Given Peter's strength and endurance, Peter could hold his fist firm and his arm still for hours... But if Stiles is supposed to mimic fucking Peter, he'd obviously be holding onto Peter and bracing himself somehow. It sort of helps Stiles keep his balance anyway.

Arousal burns with embarrassment, the bells stupidly jingling with every punctuated thrust Stiles gives. It's _his_ slick and spit that are wet around his dick too. Peter's fist remains perfectly tight for him, breath tickling against his neck as Peter encourages. Stiles is pretty sure that fucking Peter would be better than this, but he has no idea if _this_ is a game or actually leading toward that.

Stiles doesn't let up, his thrusts even and forceful, balls slapping against Peter's hands and adding to the sounds. Fingers curling, Stiles digs his nails into Peter's wrist.

"Would you-- would you actually let me fuck you?" Stiles asks, hating that hopeful tone present in his voice.

* * *

Even without thinking of what Stiles could do to _him_ with each thrust, there's something impossibly enticing about watching Stiles chase his pleasure like this. Peter's never been adverse to focusing on a partner, and he's jerked Stiles off on more than one occasion so far. Yet there's something about making himself slightly more passive and watching Stiles take up the mantle almost selfishly that has Peter's interest spiking.

Before their little incident a few months ago, Stiles had never been an overtly sexual or selfish being. He'd been viciously intelligent and quick-witted, but that had been as far as it had gone.

Now, watching the way that Stiles grabs at his wrist and fucks into his fist, Peter has to inwardly admit that his focus has changed. Stiles' scent is sweet this close, and he doesn't need to touch between Stiles' legs to know that slick has started to drip down his thighs. Peter even presses in just a little closer, feeling the heat of Stiles' body against the front of his thighs and feeling the slight drag of the slick that seeps into his own jeans.

Stiles fucks like it's a test. Peter hadn't really thought that Omegas didn't know _how_ to fuck, but he finds himself pleasantly surprised _and_ intrigued as Stiles' nails dig into his wrist. Peter feels the slap of Stiles' balls - silken and enticing in their own right - against his hand, and when Stiles speaks up, sounding _hopeful_ , Peter makes up his mind.

"I think so," Peter says, his voice lower, almost praising.

He slides his free hand down to Stiles' hip, stroking along his skin. Peter dips his fingers between them and he focuses on freeing himself from his jeans. He slips his cock free and pushes his jeans down but he doesn't do more than stay there as Stiles' next thrust rubs the head of Peter's cock against his crack. Peter wets his lips, his other hand remaining firm and solid.

"Maybe we'll build up to that. If you can _last_ enough to get me off, it might even be more than once, but considering how sensitive you are, it might require a little... practice."

* * *

It's not as if Stiles has never thought about fucking someone before. Because he has. Some Omegas and Betas actually prefer each other citing that they feel safer. It's not the most common thing out there, but it exists. So, yeah, Stiles has thought about the possibility of that one day occuring because hey, flexibility is good in the bedroom.

It's just that that 'someone' wasn't _Peter_. And Stiles may now know that he likes getting fucked (by Peter), but that doesn't mean that he couldn't like doing the giving too (with Peter).

This little mimicry - Peter setting up his fist for Stiles to fuck into - could be a taunt and not some promise. Maybe they've been doing this for a few months now, but there's really no guarantee with Peter. Honestly, Peter mentioning _satisfying him_ is daunting because Stiles' cock is smaller and he's never fucked anyone before, what if he sucks at it?

 _I think so_ leads to _maybe we'll build up to that_ , but it's difficult to get indignant. Why? Peter's cock is now out and Stiles' body is immediately interested in that - as in, it wants Peter's cock _in_ him.

Stiles' pace falters. He actually stops with a jingle and looks over his shoulder at Peter. " _That's_ not going to help me last _or_ practice," Stiles states, referring to Peter's dick, but Stiles can't help himself - he wiggles his ass to get Peter's cock closer to his drippy hole.

* * *

It's a possibility because it doesn't need to be anything else. At this precise moment in time, if Stiles winds up fucking him down the road, Peter won't protest. Yet he's far more interested in the possible build up to that. The thought of Stiles staunchly trying to stop himself from coming despite being so close? The thought of Stiles fucking Peter's fist, or a fleshlight whilst thinking about _him_ is hot enough. If the actual fucking happens, he'll be good for it, but until then, the thought of teasing and pushing and playing with Stiles makes Peter want to knot him on principle.

Still, he isn't intending to _actually_ fuck Stiles. He pulls his dick out for a bit of relief, yes, but also a little incentive. To Peter's delight, Stiles actually stops and looks back over his shoulder. _This_ is what he'd been missing that first time. Stiles' attitude, his primarily reticent nature. He much prefers a Stiles who can snap back at him if needed. Passive partners are no fun.

"I beg to differ," Peter says silkily, sounding impossibly proud of himself.

He leans in and presses his lips to Stiles' nape, and when Stiles squirms and pushes back, Peter doesn't stop him. He feels the heat and slickness and rocks his hips forward, grinding against Stiles' dripping slick.

"If you can last while I fuck you, you should be able to last _far_ easier when you fuck me. Of course... there's nothing that says I can't embellish a little bit if and when that happens. I might just get you nice plug so you can feel full. We both know you hate feeling empty."

* * *

Leave it to Peter to complicate matters by getting his dick out. Stiles has been issued a challenge of sorts, that they _work up to it_ , but it's more than he had before. The prospect of fucking Peter is super hot because Stiles knows that it'll feel amazing - his hand, Peter's hand, Peter's mouth - all of it feels so good wrapped around his dick. It also has kind of kinky coloring to it because it's not the norm. Maybe it's immature to want to give a finger to "the system" but whatever. It is what it is.

Peter rocks his hips forward and in doing so, Stiles is also moved, his dressed up dick pushing back into the tunnel of Peter's fist as the bells jingle. The idea of _lasting_ while getting fucked being linked to lasting longer while fucking _Peter_ makes Stiles snort. It's not his problem that he's an Omega and Peter dicks him so damn good.

In true Peter fashion, Peter keeps talking, talking about a plug so Stiles can feel full while he fucks Peter.

And fuck, that's hot.

Stiles shivers. Then curses. Despite it feeling _great_ to have Peter's fingers wrapped around him, the fact that Peter's cock is out and rubbing against his hole is making Stiles stir crazy. _Of course_ he also wants to get fucked, but Peter's challenged him. This is some game and Stiles doesn't want to lose. He grips Peter's wrist firmer as he takes up thrusting back into Peter's fist, bells ringing out clearly.

"I don't know if your reasoning takes into account that I'm an Omega and for the right dick, we melt," Stiles retorts breathlessly.

He's hole is clenching as he tries to concentrate on not asking (or begging) for Peter to fuck him.

* * *

Peter knows that he'll never be able to hear bells jingling again without thinking of this, of Stiles so obediently following orders. He can sense the growing tension in Stiles' shoulders, but that's no accident. Peter watches, fixated and hungry, as Stiles only grips Peter's wrist tighter and fucks back into his fist. Peter doesn't need to be a werewolf to scent Stiles' sudden surge of arousal, but it helps. That, coupled with the cute little throb that Peter can feel against his palm when Stiles thrusts his hips in 'deep', Peter smirks and trails a rougher drag of kisses over Stiles' nape.

"Yes, well. We _both_ know whose dick _you_ prefer," Peter teases, his voice low against Stiles' neck.

He glances down between them, watching as his cock slides along Stiles' ass every time he rocks his hips back. Oh, Peter's absolutely getting off on the extra attention - on the extra challenge. There's something painfully satisfying about Stiles so desperate and eager at once.

Peter tightens his hold just a little, making the tunnel of his fist tighter for Stiles' next thrust, and with his free hand, he makes a point to angle the head of his cock _just_ enough so that when Stiles pushes back, Peter's cock catches on Stiles' rim. His dick almost slides in, too, except that Peter angles it down so that it slides down, nudging the back of Stiles' balls instead of sliding home.

"I must admit, I _do_ love watching you like this," Peter muses. "So reactive."

* * *

The goddamn mirror is right in front of them, displaying a naked Stiles standing with Peter behind him. At least with Peter's fist around his cock, the bells and ribbon and the dumb bow can't really be seen. But every thrust Stiles gives reminds him of the current situation. Nestled under his cock, the bells jingle their pleased little jingle and as much as Stiles is embarrassed about this whole scenario, he thinks he's more bothered that he's turned on by it.

But maybe it's just Peter.

... But maybe it's not.

And as much as Stiles wants Peter's dick in him, he _also_ really wants to fuck Peter and see how that would be. The idea of a butt plug _while_ fucking Peter? Also good. Even if it means listening to Peter blab about which cock Stiles would prefer.

Despite how good it feels to be fucking Peter's fist, right now the rub of Peter's cockhead against his hole _is_ maddening. But this is supposed to be practice or something deranged like that and Stiles is _supposed_ to last. Which Peter is complicating by _almost_ sliding his dick in. No surprise, Peter _doesn't_ let his cock push in, instead directing it downward, brushing against his balls. Stiles scowls, but his hips continue to give pointed thrusts while he breathes tightly, not wanting to come yet.

"You always love watching me," Stiles retorts, a determined edge in his tone.

* * *

Peter isn't sure what he likes more. Stiles looks so deliciously debauched like this, his hole dripping with slick, the backs of his thighs glistening with wetness, but the frustrated desperation in each snap of Stiles' hips is just as enticing. Peter's never been one to shy away from pushing his partners, if they're amenable, and Stiles has proven that he's more than willing to rise to the challenge.

So, though the whole point of this exercise is supposedly to help Stiles last longer, Peter doesn't try to make it any easier on him. He ruts his cock between Stiles' thighs, gliding along the slick there in a way that honestly doesn't do much more than tease him, but Peter loves it. He loves feeling Stiles' desperation, feeling the shake to his thighs as he thrusts forwards into Peter's fist.

The urge to take over and jerk Stiles off _is_ there, but Peter resists. Instead, he keeps his fist steady and leans in, mouthing at Stiles' neck, teeth scraping gently over his shoulder as Stiles sasses him right back.

"I do. You're rather addictive," Peter offers, swiping his thumb just once over the head of Stiles' cock as it peeks out from his fist. "You get so deliciously desperate, but you never lose that attitude of yours."

* * *

Stiles grips Peter's wrist tightly, but he tries to imagine holding onto Peter's hips instead. Peter's hand forms a warm tunnel for his cock, but what would Peter feel like on the _inside_? Hotter and then tighter, Stiles imagines. There'd be no slick, but lube would make it wet and slippery and Stiles could push his smaller cock in and nestle right up to Peter's nice ass and then he could grind in or swivel his hips before pulling back and fucking in--

The more he thinks about it, the wetter he gets and the closer his orgasm becomes. Peter's dick out and hard and sliding against him doesn't help one bit. Stiles has control over his own "thrusts" but he also wants to come. He's never been great at lasting long, and "lasting long" is totally subjective!

Stiles' trembles with the effort and concentration it takes to remain focused on this task, on fucking into Peter's fist (but not too fast), on not thinking about the the sound of the bells ringing out, and also trying to ignore Peter's dick. He momentarily loses his pace when Peter's mouth and teeth are distracting him along his neck, and he continues to struggle as Peter's thumb rubs along his slit. Stiles watches it in the mirror and he's gotta admit, he'd like to use the mirror again.

"How much longer do I need to last for?" Stiles finally breaks down and asks.

* * *

It's a very fine line, with a sort of precise balance that Peter is walking right now. He could get Stiles off immediately, could push him and force him to come and ruin the little experiment on purpose. A part of him is tempted, because the jingle of the bells is so sweet, but they have nothing on how sweet Stiles' voice gets when he's embarrassed, especially when he's embarrassed _and_ in pleasure.

But no. Peter can behave himself. Stiles seems transfixed with the idea of fucking him, and if it gives Peter an excuse to test Stiles' limits - to push him until he falls over that edge on his own power - then Peter is on board.

His own arousal is secondary, because he has no doubt that as soon as Stiles is wet and open and pliant after orgasm, Peter will fuck him into an encore with the jingling bells a kinky accompaniment. For now, feeling the way that Stiles jerks his hips and tries to fuck Peter's fist, he's perfectly content.

At least... he is until Stiles speaks up, his voice desperate and strained. Peter breathes in the scent of Stiles' arousal, finding it sharper, closer to his end, and suddenly that little lick of sadism is back. Peter considers for a few seconds, and then when Stiles' hips go to thrust back into the tunnel of Peter's fist, he draws his hand away just like that.

Stiles' answering protest is breathless, but Peter cuts him off halfway through with a low growl.

"I don't think I'm quite done with you yet," he muses. "Don't move. If I hear that bell once, I'll leave you like this."

* * *

"Lasting" _is_ totally subjective... But Peter's oddly good at doing it and drawing things out (like, _too good_ ). Stiles doesn't know how Peter manages to do it, but he imagines it's probably got something to do with Peter's capacity to be a grade-A asshole. Peter's also older, has had more experience sexing people up, so it makes sense that Peter would be good at most things of a sexual nature.

Anyway, Stiles asks because at least having _some_ sort of time duration might help him or at least give him direction, right? It's worth a shot at any rate. A timeline gives Stiles' an end in sight, something to push toward.

He tries to read Peter's expression in the mirror, but it's difficult when his orgasm feels so damn close. Usually Peter will get off once and _then_ tease him, but Stiles hasn't gotten off at all tonight.

But no answer is forthcoming. Instead, Peter's hand pulls away and Stiles' cock thrusts into the air. Eyebrows pulling in, indignation and confusion warring, but before Stiles can even protest, Peter is growling out a threat.

Stiles swallows as his hands come to rest by his sides. He still looks ridiculous, cock hard, tip wet, the ribbons and bells... Stiles doesn't move because he's learned to take Peter's threats seriously (but it's mutual).

* * *

Thankfully, Peter doesn't go far. He kicks his jeans and boxers off, and then walks to one of the dressers in the room and opens the middle drawer, taking a moment to find what he wants. When he pulls back, he has a nicely-sized purple plug in his hand. As Stiles watches, Peter smirks and walks it back over to him, letting him see it.

"I think I want to see you try something a little different. Spread your legs for me, nice and wide," he instructs, and then reaches out. He takes a moment to smear the silicone plug against Stiles' hole, mopping up the slick there. Still, Peter does take a second to add a little lube just to be safe; he wants Stiles _dripping_. And, without further fanfare, he presses in close to Stiles' back and feeds the plug into his hole, watching his rim pale and stretch around the thickest part before it lodges itself snugly in his ass.

Before Stiles can do more than gasp, Peter bends down and in a flash, he has both of his arms hooked under Stiles' knees, holding Stiles' back to his chest as Peter looks over his shoulder. In the mirror, Stiles' cock juts out obviously, flushed prettily all bound up with his bell and ribbon. But like this, so spread, Peter can see the flared base of the plug nestled up between his cheeks. Peter's smirk grows.

"Mm... yes, just like that. Now... I want you to make yourself come like this. No touching your pretty little cock; we wouldn't want to hide the ribbon, now would we? It does look so pretty, after all. Clench down. Learn what you like, and remember it. It's _very_ important if you're going to be fucking someone."

* * *

Stiles is left standing, waiting. With the mirror, he's sort of able to keep an eye on Peter, but it's what Peter _does -_ opening a drawer - that clues in Stiles. Because Stiles knows what's in that particular drawer and it's fun stuff like toys and lube and batteries. It's difficult to not shake in anticipation, but Stiles tenses any and all the muscles he has conscious control over. He stands rigidly, pulse quick.

Then Stiles _sees_ what Peter's got - a purple silicone plug - and Stiles licks his lips. It's not Peter's dick, but it's _something_ , it's more than teasing at least. Stiles obeys, spreading his legs for Peter and wishing he could see better, but he doesn't look over his shoulder. If there was a mirror behind them, that'd be different. Still, he feels Peter rub the toy against his twitching hole. After the addition of lube, it's then delightfully pushed in and Stiles swallows, trying to adjust to the sudden sensation of stretching and fullness.

Which Peter doesn't let him. Because Peter's bending down and picking him up with no fanfare. Peter's forearms support each of his thighs and with his knees bent, his legs are kept spread while Stiles' back rests against Peter's chest. His closest arm wraps around Peter's shoulder to better support himself (although really, Peter won't drop him, but it's more for Stiles' peace of mind).

Like this, Stiles is more exposed. Dick still decorated, he can now see the hint of the plug filling him. Heat flushes through Stiles because, fuck, it should be beyond embarrassing to be like this - and it is, kinda - but Stiles is also _so_ turned on. His arousal only spikes when Peter gives the instructions:

Can't use his hands, gotta clench and wiggle on the plug and then come.

"I didn't think it was possible for this night to be any more obscene," Stiles mutters, but he really doesn't sound that disgusted by it. "Apparently I was wrong."

That said, Stiles digs his nails into Peter's shoulders before he experimentally squirms. The bells dingle, the plug shifts inside, and Stiles gasps.

* * *

Perhaps this is going a little further than they have before, and perhaps Peter is pushing it to test Stiles, but he's actually doing this for a purpose too. Watching the way that heat all but floods its way down Stiles' throat once Peter has him spread and obscenely on display is a treat, but the scent of his arousal spiking and flushing with a sort of sweeter humiliation is a scent that Peter doubts he'll ever be able to get enough of. He breathes it in, watching Stiles in the mirror and feeling the way he begins to squirm a little bit.

He's not confident with it, but this _is_ new. He'll have time to learn, and time to adjust. And, if the expression on Stiles' face is any indication, he's more than willing to continue with this little endeavor.

Peter's quite taken with it as well. Stiles hardly weighs anything in his arms, and feeling the way that Stiles leans back against him and scratches at his shoulders for purchase, Peter can see the desperation there. Stiles watches himself, initially humiliated, but quickly growing more aroused, and Peter keeps his gaze on the mirror. Like this, he can see Stiles' cock bounce as he squirms, and the jingle of the bells is almost obscene. Peter wets his lips, beyond pleased.

"Perfect," he praises, nudging his own hips up just enough for the head of his cock to kiss the flared purple base of the plug. It doesn't do much for him, but the visual of it in the mirror is thrilling. Peter ducks his head, teeth scraping at the back of Stiles' shoulder in a quick, biting kiss.

"Now, clench and unclench your muscles. _Really_ feel the plug. Use it to get you off."

* * *

Leave it to Peter to up the ante and dial up the perverted past ten. Stiles already thought things were pretty damn kinky _before_ , but this? _Now_? It's a whole new level for them. The sexual and debauched is one of Peter's areas of expertise - although Stiles certainly is gaining ground. Not that Stiles has ever had a bucket list of sexual acts, but if he did, he'd be crossing things off at a pretty fast rate.

So far, no one knows because it's no one's business. Stiles loves his Dad, but he's not going to go share that he's been messing around with _Peter_ , a much older werewolf who's done some crazy bad things around Beacon Hills. He's pretty sure his Dad wouldn't want to know about this kind of thing anyway. Scott would likely freak out. Derek? Derek would try to staunchly ignore it. Lydia would think he's insane.

If it was an actual relationship, maybe then things would be different, but it's totally not. There's no way that either one of them is into each other like that.

But Stiles _is_ into most things Peter throws at him. He wonders if Peter somehow knew that he was a hidden pervert just waiting for the opportunity to flourish. It's something that Stiles doesn't think about because he's not entirely sure that he's _okay_ or proud of what they're doing. It just happens. And he likes it. A lot.

All of this messed up stuff, even the bells and ribbon. He can see Peter's thick cock underneath him, but it's Peter's praise and teeth grazing along Stiles' neck that drives him crazy. He can feel himself growing wetter, heat rushing through him at the sensation. The tip of his cock is wet too, pre-come drooling down to the ribbons and bells.

Stiles continues to clench and squirm, nails digging into Peter's shoulder. He doesn't know how it's possible that he's going to come from this, but Stiles does as Peter's told him. He clenches against the plug, he tries to push back against it, the bells ring out, only muted by his own panted out gasps.

* * *

Peter drinks in everything that he can as he watches Stiles squirm, filing everything away for further perusal later. Oh, Peter's hard, and his own arousal is a little distracting at this point. He _does_ consider just wrenching the plug clear and fucking up into Stiles like this, but he hasn't done enough prep work, and besides, the visual is absolutely stunning. He's also learning more than he'd expected to, and as he watches Stiles eagerly begin to follow his instructions, he adds _eager to learn_ to his growing list of observations.

Watching Stiles use a toy to chase his own pleasure is one thing, but holding him up and on display only makes the experience more thrilling. Peter watches the embarrassed, aroused flush creep down Stiles' neck and chest. It hardens his nipples, and were Peter's hands not already required, he's sure he'd have delighted in pinching them. Stiles would have taken it, as he's taken everything that Peter's thrown at him so far. It's beyond gratifying.

Stiles _likes_ this. He likes being on display, likes the debauchery of it, and he likes Peter's praise. Like this, Peter can see the deep, needy, slick flush to Stiles' cock, and he can see wetness beginning to glisten at the base of Stiles' plug. The scent of need and arousal is thick in the air, and Peter shifts Stiles in his arms just a little bit, just enough for one crucial difference.

"Good. You look positively _sinful,"_ Peter praises, his voice low, almost a growl. "If it helps, just pretend you're trying to get off using _my_ knot. Push your ass back against me." Which Stiles should feasibly be able to do, now. He'll need to arch his back and trust Peter to keep him up, but it should work.

"Work for what you need. Let me hear those bells ring."

* * *

Despite Stiles' doubt that he'll be able to get off like this, he's still turned on. It's an insistent thing that throbs through him, a need and a hunger. Sweat drips from his hairline, bangs plastered down as he tries to come to terms with _how_ he's going to come - wiggling around on a damn plug with his dick all decorated up and Peter holding him. Thighs spread, all of this happening in front of a mirror. Stiles could try and close his eyes, but he's pretty sure that Peter wouldn't let that fly. It's not Peter's way of doing things, after all.

Stiles doesn't even try. The heat of embarrassment blends with arousal, and in the mirror's reflection he can see Peter's fixated expression - oh yeah, Peter's fucking into this. The knowledge adds to the whole experience, takes things up another level (even though Stiles isn't sure how much higher things can get).

He may be wet, but the plug isn't going anywhere, not when he's clenching as he is. Despite being naked, despite being hot, Stiles is shivering. More than that, he's somehow getting closer. He's got no idea how long they've been doing this for. Tonight Stiles is still waiting on his first orgasm and it's clawing desperately at him.

One shift later and the plug is pressing in just right. Stiles twitches at the sudden burst of intensity, Peter's praise only heightens everything and the instruction almost slips past him. Push his ass back? But Stiles is doing it, arching his back, not even concerned about Peter dropping him.

_'Work for what you need. Let me hear those bells ring.'_

And Stiles does. He lets himself go for it, writhing and rocking and working the plug against his prostate. Between his panted, labored breathing he's moaning from the mounting pleasure. The bells ring out, Stiles' little, hard dick bouncing with the ribbons as he gets closer and closer.

He doesn't last long, he can't, not when he's watching himself the entire time, not when he can see Peter watching him, and can feel how easy Peter's holding him. It's with a whimpered whine that his body goes taut, cock spurting into the air. With a gush of slick his muscles contract and the plug clatters to the floor as relief and pleasure slams into him.

He did it.

* * *

There aren't many Omegas who could feasibly do something like this, but Peter suspects that Stiles has this particular gift. He's been remarkably sensitive the past few times they've gotten together, and if there's something Peter loves more than anything else, it's pushing Stiles to not only test his limits, but to see what he's capable of. Or, alternately, how far Peter can nudge him towards the edge of the proverbial cliff before Stiles refuses to step forward.

As Peter holds him, suspended, his pretty dick bouncing and the bells jingling audibly, he suspects that Stiles has more than crossed over that edge by now. And all because Peter is holding him.

It's a heady feeling, but it has nothing on the satisfaction that suffuses Peter when he scents the air periodically and gets to _watch_ the steady progression as Stiles' body begins to give in. Each clench and squirm, each push back is a thrill to watch, and when Peter catches the beading precome on the tip of Stiles' cock, coupled with the few drops of slick that eventually escape past the plug, he knows that Stiles is close.

He doesn't encourage beyond what he already has; he merely watches. But when he hears Stiles' voice begin to break, when he scents the sudden spike of pleasure and holds Stiles more securely as he begins to squirm harder, he knows Stiles is there. Peter watches him in the mirror, and all it takes is Stiles meeting his eyes for a sudden whine to escape Stiles' throat. Peter holds him tight as Stiles jerks, as he goes rigid, and then - just like that - Stiles is coming.

It's a beautiful sight, Stiles' body twitching, his dick spurting and drooling, and the plug falling to the floor. Peter holds him through it, watching hungrily, his own cock aching, but it's secondary to watching Stiles fall apart _on command_. Wetting his lips, Peter shifts just enough to let his own cock jut up, rubbing against Stiles' thighs, where they're damp with slick. He could easily just slide in, could push and take, and he _will_ , but as Stiles' dazed eyes meet his in the mirror, Peter inwardly decides to give him a moment.

He still presses a small, almost-mocking kiss to Stiles' shoulder with a low hum of satisfaction. And, when Stiles slumps back against him, breathless, Peter allows himself a small smirk.

"Good boy. You've earned two minutes. Catch your breath, and relax." Peter nudges the head of his cock against Stiles' swollen, slick hole purposefully. "Then? It's my turn."


	5. Gift Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split into two parts or else the chapter would be like 18k+ and that's a little ridiculous. Almost done the second part so it shouldn't be a hella long wait to wrap this scene up.  
> Enjoy! 💖

* * *

* * *

The package arrives in the evening while his Dad is warming up leftover pizza. It's nothing fancy, just a manilla brown envelope with his name scribbled on it. Stiles recognizes it as Peter's writing, however. Curiously, he picks the envelope up and glances around, but Peter's nowhere to be found. Fast bugger.

The package is pretty light, but Stiles doesn't shake or open it. Not on the front porch and not when he comes back inside and closes the door. Anything from Peter's gotta be opened privately. In his bedroom. With the door closed. And locked just to be careful.

"Who was it?" Stiles' Dad calls out from the kitchen. 

Fuck. "Oh, uhhhh," Stiles begins, trying to think fast because his Dad still doesn't know about Peter and him and Stiles would like to keep it that way a bit longer. Besides, he's pretty sure whatever is _inside_ the envelope would not thrill his Dad either. "Just some religious people trying to, you know, save us from eternal damnation - the usual."

"What?"

"I'll be right back, gonna grab something from my room, because that's where I keep my stuff. Don't over nuke the pizza or the cheese will be lava!" 

Stiles races up the stairs, envelope in hand. Once he's safely inside his bedroom, door locked, and leaning against it, Stiles rips the package open, fingers reaching in--

The envelope sails to the floor but clutched in Stiles' hand is a pair of red lace panties. Eyes wide, a blush blooms across his face as his other hand grabs at the trim to spread the panties out to get a better look. The panties look to be his size, sheer with delicate lace patterns, and while the back isn't full, it's not a thong either, it has enough fabric to give a _cheeky_ preview. 

Obviously, it's for _him_. Peter wants him to wear these. When? It's not even panties that are designed for _male_ Omegas either, but for females. Maybe another male Omega would be fuming or embarrassed, but Stiles knows that he's into it. His cock is hardening and he's itching to try the panties on. 

He wonders how he'll look. He wonders how Peter will react to it. The idea of Peter buying him something that he wants him to wear? Mm. Stiles likes it.

"Hey kid, food's ready!" 

Pizza or panties? Pizza first. Panties after. Stiles had been complaining about being hungry, if he suddenly didn't want to eat, his Dad would be suspicious. That settles it. Stiles will text Peter as soon as they're done eating. 

Stiles texts Peter as soon as he's done eating, but instead of offering to just come over, he bugs Peter to come pick him up because Peter has a motorbike, and Stiles thinks wearing the panties underneath his jeans while riding a motorbike sounds rather kinky. 

* * *

Peter is a man of specific tastes, but he's also a man of questionable impulse control. When it really counts, he'll mind himself. He's not about to react with fangs and claws if someone has a gun trained on his head and an itchy trigger finger, and he's not about to over-eat no matter how good it tastes. But when it comes to other, minor impulses, it's difficult to set them aside. 

He's not even thinking of lingerie at first. He's only thinking of Stiles, of how good he'd looked with his legs spread wide and his cock dressed up and tied pretty with a silk blue ribbon. Oh, Peter had fucked Stiles right in his arms directly afterwards, had fucked him with his legs spread and cock bouncing, Stiles' slick dripping onto the hardwood of his floor. But it's only a short jump from 'ribbon' and 'wet' to something a little more overt. With the scent of Stiles' slick and come still lingering on the floor even after Peter had cleaned it, Peter quietly opens a browser and gets to work.

The package arrives at his place first, a few days later. Peter inspects it, makes sure that he's satisfied, and there's something about the delicate, sheer lace against his fingertips that makes him even more interested in seeing how Stiles will look in them.

Stiles _will_ wear the panties. He might bitch and moan, might threaten or refuse, but he'll give in. He _likes_ it when Peter looks at him, likes putting on a show even when he doesn't want to admit it.

So, Peter mails the package. He gets tracking on it simply so he can tell when it's been delivered, and it's later that evening when Peter gets the notification on his phone. 

* * *

Panties are definitely more exciting than leftover pizza, but given that Peter is just an Alpha fuck buddy? Stiles doesn't blow off his Dad. As fun and thrilling as messing around with Peter is... Stiles tries to keep himself in check. He keeps himself grounded in reality and the reality is: they're _not_ bonded, they're _not_ dating, and he _should_ be able to go for days, if not weeks, without getting his rocks off with Peter.

By now Stiles is beginning to expect that the rest of the pack kinda knows _something_ is going on between them, but mercifully no one is saying anything. So far Peter's been really good about leaving marks that can be hidden, but it's not as if Stiles always has time to clean himself properly. 

Most of the time he just douses himself with body spray to cover up Peter's scent. Either way, he'll probably have to come clean to Scott at least, because Scott would be the only one kinda-sorta hurt about not being told something.

He eats the pizza with a beginning stiffie that's hidden under a baggy hoodie. Oh, it's not nice whatsoever to be trying to make small talk when he's thinking about slipping Peter's gift on, but Stiles gets through it. He's careful to not be _too_ helpful or too quick to race to his bedroom, but when he finally gets up there, he's slipping off his hoodie and then stripping down. 

* * *

It's even _later_ that Peter gets a text from _Stiles_. Which... on one hand, perhaps, is not surprising, but on the _other_ , Peter doesn't appreciate being made to wait.

He's expecting Stiles to shoot off a quick, eager message. One that says he'll be by soon. One that indicates that Stiles has felt the last few days of no contact as much as Peter had wanted him to. Instead, Peter is treated (read: harassed) into Stiles wanting _him_ to come over. As, clearly, it makes much more sense for _Peter_ to leave, pick Stiles up, and then drive back than it does for Stiles to just drive over himself.

Peter knows he shouldn't humor it; he's not one to set a precedent. Yet, the thought of seeing Stiles wearing the lingerie _is_ tempting...

In the end, though he's not pleased about it, Peter does wind up going. He throws on a leather jacket over his black v-neck, and slips his helmet on before grabbing the keys to his motorcycle. It'll take him twenty minutes or so to get to Stiles' house. He doesn't waste any more time.

When Peter arrives, he makes a point to walk the last few blocks to Stiles' home. He parks his bike in a public parking lot, mindful of the sound of the engine. And, while Peter _could_ send Stiles a text to let him know he's here, Peter has other plans. Without a sound, Peter jumps up onto the outcropping of roof just below Stiles' bedroom window. Taking his helmet off, he reaches out, finds the window open a crack, and slips his claws under it to open completely. Nothing like a little quiet breaking and entering to liven up an otherwise boring evening.

The second that Peter ducks into Stiles' bedroom, though, he pauses. The scent in the air is thick and _very_ pointed. Well. _Interesting_. 

"Looks like _someone_ enjoyed my gift," Peter drawls. The scent of Stiles' arousal is spicy and simmering in the room.

* * *

Stuffed under his pillow, Stiles fetches the lingerie and looks at it. He's planning on giving Peter a little peep show via the window then quickly throw some clothes on and leave. Easy peasy. First things first though...

Carefully, he slips the panties up. The lace catches on his leg hair a little, but it feels more odd and nice than bad as it slides up. Stiles has to push his boner to the side and the panties hug the line of his erection horizontally. He gazes down at the obvious bulge, never having seen it covered in pretty red lace and other sheen material. The lace isn't actually scratchy against him either. Stiles likes it. 

After he realizes he's standing naked except for the lingerie, he grabs at his hoodie and zips it up, slightly self-conscious. While he thinks he looks pretty good, it's not his own opinion he's interested in. 

Peter texts him before he leaves and Stiles takes a deep breath. He can do this.

He lays down on the bed and turns his lamp on the lowest setting and tries to gear himself up for giving Peter a little show... The dim lighting should help against anyone else getting a view at least (god, he'd hate to hear that told to him by his Dad). He's been half-hard for what feels like hours now and he's seriously debating just jerking himself off quickly, but Stiles is unsure if he'll succeed at it. Best not to try. He doesn't want to be more sexually frustrated.

Stiles isn't given another text, there's no opportunity for him to take off his hoodie and pose in front of the window for a certain werewolf coming to pick him up, because Peter fucking _sneaks in_ like some teenager.

Still taken back, the familiar scent of Peter is welcome and Stiles' body perks up, very much interested. But this isn't how it's supposed to go down.

"Gifts are meant to be enjoyed," Stiles mutters, distracted. He throws a look at his closed door before looking back to Peter. "You're not supposed to be here. My Dad's home."

* * *

Peter can tell that he'd interrupted Stiles' plans simply by the spike of shock and mild frustration that he can smell on the air, but given that Stiles had made him come all the way down here, Peter thinks he can handle the disappointment. True, Peter knows that whatever Stiles had been undoubtedly planning would have been a sight, but he _is_ irritated at being made to make an unnecessary trip.

Still, Stiles _does_ look good just the way he is. Laid back on the bed, his legs bare, his hoodie pulled down, he looks casual-good, the way he sometimes does when Peter's feeling particularly impatient. But all it takes is the slightest tilt of Peter's head and he can catch the barest glimpse of red under Stiles' hoodie. It's not overtly visible, but given that Stiles' scent thickens and his pulse quickens, Peter's relatively certain that Stiles is already making good use of his gift.

Peter's tempted to merely step over and pull Stiles' hoodie off in order to get a good look at him, but something catches his attention first. He watches as Stiles darts a nervous glance over at his door, his tone distracted, and even before Stiles explains _why_ , Peter understands.

The Sheriff is downstairs. Peter can hear the distant clinking of dishes, and while a part of him does want to leave, something else - something somewhat insidious - rears within his chest. Peter goes quiet, thoughtful, contemplating. He looks from Stiles' door to Stiles on the bed in a smooth glance, the sounds of Stiles' father mulling about downstairs giving Peter a sudden idea.

"Your father is washing the dishes and humming _We Are the Champions_. I think we're guaranteed a few minutes," Peter drawls, standing in Stiles' bedroom. 

Despite his blithe answer, Peter's steps are soundless as he walks over, stripping his jacket off to hang over Stiles' headboard pointedly. This is Stiles' place; his scent is thick in the room, and Peter _does_ feel a small thrill being here, but it's Stiles' visible discomfort that's the real temptation. 

Peter walks around to the side of Stiles' bed and, pointedly, he takes a seat on it beside him. "You know... I don't like being made into a _taxi_ service," he says faux-conversationally.

* * *

It's not _always_ Peter's apartment that they mess around in, but it usually is. Sometimes it's in Peter's pretentious sports car and other times it's like a6 dark corner and Peter's promising that they won't get caught (and they haven't yet, so that's something). 

But it's never Stiles' bedroom because his room is in his _Dad's_ house, as in the _Sheriff_ , and Stiles would rather not have to be worried about his Dad finding out about Peter and him. Not yet at least. If his Dad were to ever discover them, it's going to be on Stiles' terms and when Stiles knows exactly how to explain everything. Right now he'd have no idea how to spin why he's wearing female panties, for example.

Peter knows why he's nervous, but instead of urging Stiles to get dressed so they can leave, a flash of something appears on this face. And Stiles knows what that means: it's Peter deciding on something that he finds more intriguing or desirable. Peter's dismissal of his Dad being any sort of threat has Stiles sitting up straighter, heartbeat skipping because that means Peter doesn't plan on leaving ASAP.

Peter just comes and sits down on the bed and Stiles pulls on his hoodie making sure he's covered. It's not that he's shy, but he wants Peter to work for it, at least a little.

_'You know... I don't like being made into a taxi service.'_

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Well, maybe I wanted to give you a window peep show and then ride on your bike wearing them," he shoots back.

* * *

Peter isn't particularly pleased about Stiles making a point of covering himself up, especially considering that Peter intends to make that a moot point before long. It's Stiles' attempt to regain his own control, which is ridiculous after he'd made Peter come all this way. Apparently for a _peep show._ On one hand, Peter can see the appeal in the idea, but on the other hand, he's still irritated that _that_ had been Stiles' main goal. 

He reminds himself that this is still new to Stiles. This particular Omega isn't yet sure what action constitutes which reaction, and so Peter takes a moment to read between the lines. Beyond Stiles' desire to show off - which Peter is aware that he loves to do, whether or not he wants to admit it - there's something else there. A slight tremor in Stiles' voice, and the faintest stirring of arousal. 

Peter glances down at him, at Stiles' bare legs, shapely but strong and masculine still, and a clear juxtaposition of the panties that Peter can't see. It doesn't take him long to connect the dots, and when he does, a slow smirk makes its way across his lips. He brings a knee up, sitting comfortably on Stiles' bed, all loose-limbed and casual in stark contrast to Stiles' tension.

"Your exhibitionism isn't a surprise. But that little thrill-seeking part of your mind? Now _that_ is worth note," Peter muses. As he speaks, one of his hands moves out, brushing over Stiles' knee. Peter curls his fingers, thumb brushing Stiles' skin and the slightly-coarse hair there. It makes him think about shaving Stiles' legs for him, about how good he'd look... 

"I wonder if it's _just_ the bike you like, or if it's the idea of holding onto me while I drive. Then there's always the vibrations," Peter says conversationally, sliding his hand up Stiles' thigh, just enough that his pinky stretches out to touch the hem of the lace panties. 

"Vibrations feel good enough, but with your little cock trapped in lace? You'd be dripping all over my bike. But then... that appeals to you. Why Stiles, you're practically a _deviant_ ," he teases, pressing down enough to make the panties shift just a little. Just giving Stiles a _hint_ of the feeling of lace moving over his skin. 

* * *

As far as Stiles is concerned, trying to get Peter to be a so-called taxi service isn't that big of an offense. As it's usually _Stiles_ heading to Peter's, why couldn't Peter come and pick him up? It shouldn't be a big deal.

... Not that Stiles is exactly sure if it is or where Peter is going with this. A minute ago the werewolf seemed perturbed on some level about the whole inconvenience or whatever, but now? Now, Peter looks focused or directed, and it's an expression that usually brings about an activity that affects Stiles heavily. 

Of course here and now is absolutely _not_ the place where anything Peter-related should be happening, but Stiles doesn't speak up and tell Peter to go. He doesn't whip out the safeword either. Maybe he's unsure about things, but they haven't gotten caught and he very much doubts that Peter would let them get caught by his Dad now.

In the dim lighting, he can see Peter glancing down at his bare legs. Stiles wonders if his legs look any better because of the panties. Are they accentuated? Is that a thing? Or is it weird because he has some leg hair? He doesn't know, but he's got more to look up later online.

Peter mentions his supposed _thrill-seeking_ and Stiles' breath catches. His cock takes a blatant interest when Peter's hand touches, fingers trailing along his knee which isn't sexy, but it's _Peter_ and that's apparently enough for Stiles. As Peter's hand travels higher, goosebumps pop up on Stiles' skin, and his pulse jumps. He can barely feel the touch of Peter's pinky sneaking under his hoodie, but Stiles can see it. He's staring down at Peter's hand, expecting more touch to come, but Peter speaks up instead.

Stiles' head snaps up and he swallows as Peter goes on and talks about his (little) cock being trapped and dripping (Peter's not wrong, why does Peter never seem to be wrong?).

When he's called a _deviant,_ Stiles openly glares. That glare isn't able to stay on long because Peter's finger push and the panties pull. 

"Okay, what does that make you then?" Stiles hisses out. "You're the one who bought the panties. You're the one who did the whole ribbon and bells thing. Pretty sure you're more deviant than I am."

* * *

There's only so much that Peter can do here, but he's going to do it with gusto. Watching the way that Stiles' pupils slowly dilate in the low light, and hearing the way his pulse skips and his scent sharpens with steadily-growing arousal is heady enough. But the way that Stiles looks at him, half-dazed, half-expectant is truly what draws Peter's attention. 

He watches as Stiles seems to shift under his touch, watches him glance down at himself, at Peter's hand, and Peter can see the prickle of goosebumps over Stiles' skin as his panties pull tighter against his cock.

As nice as it is to have Stiles flustered, it's equally as satisfying to have him annoyed. Peter drinks in the glare that Stiles shoots him, amused by the indignation and the flicker of heat and anger in Stiles' eyes when Peter up and calls him a deviant. The response is exactly what Peter had hoped to hear, as despite this new dynamic they've stumbled their way into, Stiles isn't fun if he's not pushing back slightly. Peter isn't interested in a whining Omega. He likes Stiles' fire.

"Oh, I am. The difference between us is that I'm proud of it," Peter says, lowering his voice purposefully, the way Stiles seems to like it the best. Peter slides his hand up enough to press against Stiles' thigh, and when he slides it in between Stiles' thighs, he takes his time with it.

Maybe he can't _see_ the panties, but as his knuckles brush up against the lace, he can feel them. And even if Stiles can't see Peter's hand under the hoodie, he can imagine it, and he can feel it. Peter's thumb presses to the growing bulge in Stiles' panties, rubbing back and forth languidly, teasing where he knows Stiles is sensitive. 

"If it's the vibrations you were after, I can work with that in the future. I must admit, the thought of how wet you'd get if I used a vibrator on you _is_ appealing. Almost as much as it would be to see that wetness through your panties." 

And, as if to illustrate that, Peter slides his fingers back, pressing them where Stiles' panties would get wet.

* * *

_Deviant._ _Pervert_. These are just words and whatever Peter calls him shouldn't matter to Stiles. It's not as if anyone is hearing them and while the pack may be wondering or suspicious about the two of them, Stiles can handle that. _Peter_ is one thing, it's everything that they get up to that Stiles isn't so sure about. What they do, what's all involved, it's still kind of new to him. And Stiles knows that he _shouldn't_ feel guilty or bad or embarrassed about it, but he does at times.

Because it's complicated. Somehow. Complicated because he's wearing lacy women's panties that Peter bought him and Peter teasing him - in his bedroom - isn't what Stiles wants...

Right?

But Stiles isn't doing anything to stop this. He's not shoving Peter away. He's not even _really_ protesting anymore. Aroused and confused, Stiles makes no effort to swat Peter's hand away. 

Peter pointing out that he's proud of being a deviant or pervert is pretty much about what Stiles would expect. And that works for Peter. It's something anyone would expect of Peter Hale anyway. What works for Stiles is that lower, gravelly tone that Peter uses that makes his stomach clench deliciously. He's pretty sure if Peter talked long enough he could drive Stiles crazy. 

Stiles' legs spread open wider as Peter's warm hand glides in between his thighs. A sharp intake of breath is made when Peter's thumb blatantly pets over his cock. It's not the most pleasurable sensation, but it's a tease - it's something. His cock is fully hard now, wet tip smearing into the lace. Of course there's his slick too, but he's generally always a little wet when alone with Peter. As Peter's fingers push back, Stiles' legs tremble as his hips unconsciously lift in order to let Peter have room. 

Thoughts of vibrators and what if's are tossed to the side in favor of Stiles throwing Peter a look. 

"You don't want to see them?" Stiles blurts out. Because once Peter finally _sees_ him in the panties, surely Peter would want them to leave.

* * *

Peter's not exactly surprised that Stiles' cock is fully hard in his panties, but he _is_ pleased. He's always been partial to responsive partners and Stiles tops the charts so far. He's new to most things that they get up to, but he's not afraid to throw himself in fully. Occasionally he might be leery, or might wonder if he _should_ be doing something, but Peter doesn't need to do much to convince him. Stiles' libido is quite the ally there, and it's no different now.

Besides, there's something painfully hot about the way that Stiles' legs spread obediently when Peter's hand dips between them. Stiles' hips lift and Peter doesn't even think he's aware of doing it. It sends a thrill through him, his own dick hardening in expectation at how deliciously reactive Stiles is being, even while nervous. In a way, Stiles' nerves only make it better.

Peter's fingers curl enough to press against Stiles' panties, and he's pleasantly surprised to feel a dampness against his fingers. Pressing a little harder, enough to pull the lace of Stiles' panties tighter against his cock, Peter rubs his fingers in slow circles, the fabric of the lace just barely kissing where Stiles' hole is wet. 

Stiles suddenly blurting out his response _does_ catch Peter slightly off guard, but he's quick to recover. He lifts an eyebrow, appraising, and a small smirk touches his lips as he looks Stiles over.

"Of course I want to see them," he says easily. "Just as much as _you_ want me to. So... if you're done being coy, why not give me a little show?" Peter's fingers curl again, petting along Stiles' hole with a satisfied smirk. 

"Pretty please?"

* * *

Peter's said that his Dad is busy, but Stiles is still very much aware that they're in _his_ bedroom, in _his_ house, and they've never messed around here. He still wants them to leave because he doesn't want them to be caught, and trying to keep quiet isn't something Stiles always finds easy to do either. Actually, Stiles pretty much sucks at it, and yet he's trying to talk in a hushed voice with Peter.

Because Peter is likely paying attention and listening for his Dad, it'd be easy enough for Peter to just slip out and leave Stiles all flustered, wearing panties, and _bam_ , discovered. Which would be awkward, but... Stiles could probably manage it? Not that he wants that to happen or to have to manage it. And despite Stiles' concerns about getting caught, there is this thrill to this whole sneaking around a bit - which should be worrisome because maybe Peter is going to push things even more. 

As aroused as he may be, Stiles still wants them to relocate. And it's probably the panties that are doing it, not the whole, 'ooo we may get caught thing'. Peter's answering smirk is par for the course, but well, Stiles doesn't mind it - not so much anymore. Smirking is kinda Peter's thing and Peter's damn good at it. Just like he's good at teasing, his finger stroking at his hole. The sensation is less intense from the panties covering it, but it's a _hint_ and it's enough to get Stiles shivering. 

It's the _pretty please_ that Peter adds that makes Stiles jolt into movement, scrambling away from Peter's fingers and off the bed. He must have a kink for Peter saying please, even if it's done somewhat condescendingly. 

Stiles wets his lips as his hands smooth down the hoodie he's wearing. He's standing in front of Peter who's sitting on the bed and watching him intently. Peter's gaze coupled with the anticipation only gets him wetter. Not that Stiles really has much in the way of knowing _how_ to put on a show, but he'll try his best. 

He slowly begins hiking up the hoodie, revealing his thighs as he turns around. It's with his ass facing Peter that Stiles pulls it up to reveal the panties and works off the hoodie. His heart is racing, standing only in his panties as he drops the sweater to the floor. He's now only in the panties.

Stiles looks over his shoulder. "Like what you see so far?"

* * *

Well, isn't _that_ interesting? Peter quietly files away the knowledge that Stiles apparently likes it when he says please, because that does imply a thing or two. Peter's always been one to look for the fast-track in any scenario, and the idea of being able to butter Stiles up easier? That's definitely something he keeps in the back of his mind as Stiles hastens to his feet and all but trips over himself in order to stand in front of Peter.

Peter sits up straighter and turns, his attention on Stiles all but rapt as Stiles looks at him. The spike of arousal in the air grows when Peter wets his lips intentionally, and he's treated to the truly sweet sight of Stiles' hands sliding down to his hoodie and then the slow revelation of Stiles' thighs.

Again, Peter considers how Stiles' legs might look shaved, or in something more lascivious. Garters or fishnets, perhaps, but he figures he'll need to work up to that if ever he wants to push for it. He's most certainly not complaining about the sight as it is right _now_ , especially not when Stiles turns around and gives Peter a delightful look at his back. And, as the hoodie hikes up over Stiles' ass, Peter lets out a low, appreciative hum at the sight of the blood red panties against Stiles' pale skin. 

They're delicate in a way that Stiles isn't, and the contrast is all the hotter. 

Peter doesn't notice Stiles removing his hoodie until it drops to the floor behind him. Caught briefly off guard by the fact that he truly _hadn't_ noticed, Peter blinks, but it doesn't take him long to revel in the sight of how good Stiles looks like this. Especially considering Stiles' father could walk in at any moment.

"Mm. Yes, I'm a fan," Peter says smoothly, his voice all but dripping with praise as he drinks in the way Stiles looks. 

Easing closer, Peter lets his feet touch the floor as he sits on Stiles' bed, and when he reaches out to take hold of Stiles' hips and pulls him closer, he can smell Stiles' slick like candy. With a hum, Peter leans in and presses a pointed kiss to where the panties have dampened against Stiles' skin, blatant. He has nothing to be ashamed of. 

"This is most definitely your color. Such a pretty boy."

* * *

Stiles could have drawn things out more, but it's not as if they have _all_ the time in the world for him to tease Peter with some striptease-slash-show. Because they totally _don't_ have the time, and Stiles shouldn't even be entertaining this _at all._ Too bad it's always been pretty difficult to say no to Peter, especially when it's been _days_ in between them getting it on. Because for some reason it's like they have this undeniable chemistry between them, and it's probably just because they're in the same pack and Peter's an Alpha, and whatever. It's a thing that Stiles is starting to suspect (and secretly hope that he's not the only one that's noticed it).

Stiles doesn't know how embarrassed or how turned on he should be about the _female_ panties he's wearing, but it's something he'll likely think about later. 

He's now _only_ wearing them, the fabric and lace feeling different on his skin. A little scratchy, too tight in some places even, but the discomfort, although there, hardly phases Stiles. Why? Because Peter's eyes are glued to him. Peter bought this surprise gift for him, and Peter wants him to wear it, and he is. Stiles might not be the rippling definition of a man, but he wouldn't classify himself as _girly_... But the panties are pretty girly. He doesn't care. He likes them still. 

Peter shifts to the side of the bed, and before Stiles can turn around, Peter's hands are grabbing at his waist and pulling him closer. Stiles steps back, ending up with his ass in Peter's view while he faces the door. He really needs to put a stop to this and demand that they leave. Too bad Peter has something else in mind because Peter leans in and Stiles feels breath against his ass before a kiss is placed on the damp panties. 

His face flames. It stands to reason that it should be _less_ embarrassing - and arousing - for Peter to be doing such a thing when there's a layer of clothing present, but apparently _nope_. His cock is still straining and hard, his ass growing wetter.

Being called _such a pretty boy_ only adds to Stiles' dual embarrassment and arousal. In a bid to pull himself together, Stiles clears his throat and stands up taller. 

"Good to know," he tries to say dismissively, like this isn't making him leak like a faucet, like he doesn't want to just jump on Peter and be touching him everywhere and being touched in return. 

"Can we just get out of here now?"

* * *

Oh, Stiles _likes_ that. This close, there's no way for Stiles to hide. Not that he would have been able to anyway on account of Peter's heightened senses, but considering how close Peter is to Stiles' ass, and how sweet the smell of his slick is, there's no hiding the fact that Stiles is practically dripping with arousal. Peter smirks to himself, his eyes glinting bright blue for a second as he draws back just enough to see the way that Stiles' panties begin to dampen in back. Undoubtedly he could say the same about the front, but right now, Peter's focus is a little more... direct.

Peter's tempted to curl his fingers into the back of Stiles' panties just to watch them stick wetly to his ass, but he thinks Stiles might protest such a blatant display. Not that he really minds. Stiles is distracted, his pulse quick in his chest as his eyes remain on his closed bedroom door, but it has nothing on how hot he is. Peter doesn't need his enhanced senses to watch Stiles' cheeks go ruddy with embarrassed arousal, and as it climbs its way down the back of his neck, Peter's tempted to make Stiles turn around to face him more. He's curious just how far down that blush goes, but he'll discover it later.

Right now, he's far more interested in _how much_ Stiles likes this. Peter had been expecting Stiles to enjoy it, maybe to even want to do it again, but there's a low, burning arousal, and then there's the kind of arousal that lurches and surges ahead like wildfire. That's what Peter can smell, and as he watches, Stiles' panties darken further in a way that has nothing to do with Peter's tongue. 

Well, one thing's for sure. Peter has no intention of going anywhere.

"No, I don't think so," he drawls casually, his voice light, almost cheerful. "I like you like this. So wet for me. You look practically delectable. In fact..." 

Peter reaches one of his arms out and, just like that, he locks it around Stiles' waist in order to pull him back. He leans in, breathing in the scent of Stiles' slick, and then he takes a handful of Stiles' ass, squeezing the cheek appreciatively as he spreads Stiles open for him. Peter doesn't move the panties as he licks a long, wet stripe up the back of them with a low, indulgent hum. 

* * *

Yeah, Stiles likes this. Maybe he shouldn't or maybe he should like it less. He doesn't know. He's still winging things with Peter. It's been months of winging it, really, and despite getting more experiences under his metaphorical sex-belt, Peter continues to surprise him. Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that that's not going to be changing anytime soon either. Because Peter likes throwing him for a loop, Peter enjoys being unpredictable... And a douchebag. And a lot of other things.

Not that any of that really matters because Stiles is still here, and they're still messing around with each other (a few times per week even). Plus, the whole surprise and spontaneity aspect of Peter keeps things fresh and interesting. It keeps Stiles hooked. 

Case in point: he's standing in his dimly lit bedroom wearing only red lace panties and he's crazy turned on, and he really should put his foot down and stop this because there's no way they're going to fuck around if his Dad is downstairs. It's a no. It's not going to fly, and Stiles tries to suggest that they go--

Peter tells him _no_. In a damnable light, happy tone even. Stiles might be turned on and initially had encouraged things just a little bit, but he never wanted this to be a real thing unfolding. He's supposed to get dressed quickly and leave while shouting back at his Dad that he's going over to Scott's, but then rendezvous with Peter and ride behind him on his bike. Simple and sexy and good.

What Peter does instead is curl an arm around him to yank him back. Stiles' hands come to the arm anchoring around his abdomen still, but he's not able to do anything because Peter's hands are on his ass and spreading him. Stiles shudders, his wet hole not quite exposed as the panties are still covering him.

Once more, he feels Peter's face draw near, feels the tease of hot exhaled air through the skimpy fabric, and then he's pretty sure that Peter is just licking up the panties - which Stiles can't even really feel directly because the panties are still stretched over his crack. What's worse is the debauched pleased sound Peter makes while doing it. 

Stiles pulls himself together and tries to give Peter a dissuasive snake bite on his forearm with each of his hands twisting in opposite directions. 

"We can't do this here," Stiles berates in a shaky whisper. "I can't stay quiet. Come on..."

* * *

Peter's becoming rather taken by Stiles' slick. There's nothing particularly different about it; it's not as sweet as it had been when Stiles had been desperate and dripping while in heat, and Peter has tasted others that have been sweeter in the past. _That_ sweetness hadn't belonged to Stiles, though, and as Peter works over the lace of Stiles' panties, he savors the burst of slick across his tongue. It's bordering sweet, but somehow _Stiles_ all the way through, and Peter can already tell that this is his favorite.

Stiles' grip on Peter's arm tightens, and Peter focuses on the flavor, on how willing he'd be to simply pull Stiles' panties aside and drink his fill. He's tempted, and honestly he's already halfway to his decision when suddenly Stiles' grip tightens even _more_ and _twists_. Enough to sting. Peter grimaces and glances up at Stiles, annoyed, but he doesn't move his arm back even as he listens to Stiles' protest.

Were Stiles really distressed, Peter suspects he would stop. He's not going to now, though. Stiles is nervous, yes, but his nerves haven't climbed enough to sour his scent. It's all surface-level protest, and - in answer - Peter hums thoughtfully and then lets go of Stiles' ass. 

It's not to readjust his grip, though. Instead, it's to deliver a quick swat to Stiles' cheek, the skin under his hand paling before blood flushes it a rosy color.

"Oh, I think with the right incentive, you could," Peter muses, leaning down to press a kiss to the flushed skin of Stiles' ass. "Besides, I can hear your father just fine. Anyway, you should have a vested interest in keeping quiet. I'm fairly certain even your father would be able to smell your slick if he were to come and check in on you. So..."

Peter trails off and, after giving Stiles' pinkened cheek another slow squeeze, Peter nudges his fingers under the lace of Stiles' panties. There's no teasing, no lingering. Peter's finger slides right over to Stiles' hole and strokes over the slick skin in a pointed circle. And, before Stiles can protest, Peter turns his finger enough to pick up some of Stiles' slick, and then he presses into Stiles' hole, sliding his finger in nice and deep. He knows Stiles can take it.

"I'd be quiet if I were you."

* * *

In the dim lighting, Stiles stares at his bedroom door. He can't look away - not that he could do much if the door _did_ happen to swing open - but it's really the only thing that's keeping Stiles somewhat grounded. 

This _is_ hot. Stiles can admit it. He's aroused, his little cock straining in the panties, his slick soaking into the fabric. Peter can smell it, hear his jackrabbiting pulse, and now Peter's touched the back of his damp panties. Stiles can't hide how turned on he is, how Peter drives him crazy.

Stiles may twist on the skin on Peter's forearm, but he's not expecting to be able to hurt Peter. Stiles - human, Peter - werewolf. Stiles - regular normal strength and speed, Peter - fast, strong, supernatural. Yeah, there's nothing Stiles can do to physically stop Peter... which _is_ also hot in a weird way. 

Peter doesn't seem to care and Stiles, for his protest and his attempt at a snakebite, gets swatted on his ass. It's not _that_ loud or hard, but it does sting and Stiles winces. His toes curl along his floor, his grasp lessening on Peter's arm, but Stiles doesn't let go. Holding onto something - Peter - is helping a little. 

The mention of his Dad being able to smell his slick if he came in has mortification rushing through Stiles and he stiffens. That's absolutely a horrible predicament and it _should_ turn him off. It should get Stiles stopping this entirely. He could use his safeword, right?

But no plan of action is decided on because Peter's fingers slip underneath the lace. Stiles forcibly swallows down his surprised sound at the sensation of Peter's finger caressing over his dripping hole. The urge to spread his legs and jut his ass out claws at him. As Peter helps himself and slides a finger in, Stiles' eyes close. One finger isn't enough, he needs more--

But his eyes snap open when Peter issues his warning to stay quiet… or is it a threat? Stiles' fingers shake along Peter's arm, but he doesn't say anything as he rocks back on Peter's finger. He can't help it, his body likes it. Maybe it'll be fine. Maybe he can stay quiet. He's just gotta take it and placate Peter for a bit.

* * *

Peter knows that one finger isn't enough. It could be if he used it properly, if he curled it and used his strength to fuck Stiles like that, but he knows that in these moments, Stiles likes to feel fuller. It's one reason his knotted dildo had stopped satisfying him, and it's one reason that Stiles keeps coming back for more.

Peter doesn't give him anything more, though. Not yet. He closes his eyes, drinking in the feeling of Stiles' muscles clenching down around his finger. He feels Stiles stiffen, knows that he's likely worried about being found out, but Peter can still hear the sheriff downstairs. It's doubtful that he'll be coming up anytime soon, but if he does, Peter will know about it long beforehand. 

But Stiles won't. Stiles is dependent on Peter's senses, and as Peter feels the way that Stiles' muscles clench and twitch around him, desperate for more but still wary, he dwells on what a rush that must be. If Stiles trusts him (which, admittedly, is a bad idea) then he'll not be concerned about his father. If he doesn't, then that edge of risk might just make this sweeter for him. 

Peter can feel Stiles' hands shaking along his forearm. He can feel the way that Stiles' body squirms for more. Slowly, pointedly, Peter draws his finger back and then pushes it in again, fucking Stiles' hole slow as he feels the wetness drip down his finger. A drop slides down into his palm and Peter hums, pleased. Leaning in again, Peter uses his thumb to pull Stiles' panties aside, and when he licks over Stiles' skin directly, his tongue passes over Stiles' hole and his own finger. 

"Good boy," Peter says lowly, praising under his breath. "Now... I would have been perfectly happy to come and pick you up here if you'd _asked_ first. Keep that in mind for the future. But for now..."

Perhaps to distract Stiles, or perhaps to reward him, when Peter slides his finger out again, he presses back in with two. Stiles is already wet enough to take it, and Peter presses both fingers in deep, curling them slowly to stroke a soft kiss over Stiles' prostate. Peter pulls Stiles back a little more firmly against him, his other hand splaying almost possessively over Stiles' abdomen. 

* * *

It's difficult to think if this is the hottest thing he's done with Peter, but it might be. It's difficult to formulate any sort of ranking because Stiles is trying very hard to be quiet, to hold back any sounds that want to slip out, to moderate his heavier, quicker breathing. Which he normally doesn't bother to do. He knows that Peter likes hearing him, and being noisy usually helps Stiles enjoy whatever they're doing. It heightens it or something.

Not that Stiles thinks he wants _this_ heightened. He's still hard and wet, and he's still letting Peter do this. Is it just panties coupled with Peter's presence? Or maybe that there's some inherent hotness with the risk of being caught? Not that Stiles _wants_ to be caught by his Dad, because he so totally doesn't. 

Peter moves languidly, fucking Stiles with one finger like he has all the time on the world (which they don't). Stiles' knees shake as he clamps his mouth closed, determined to stay quiet even if it kills him. Peter might actually want him dead when, after moving the panties aside, he leans in and licks around Stiles' hole and even the finger inside of it. It really shouldn't be that crazy hot, and yet it is? Somehow? 

To keep quiet Stiles needs to bite down on his bottom lip, the discomfort adding a small distraction, but it's something. He doesn't know why that's so hot, but it is. Peter's words sound syrupy and are barely processed, but it's when another finger pushes it's way inside his hot, wet hole that Stiles gasps before he can stop himself. One of his hands goes to slap over his mouth, effectively muffling himself as Peter's fingers move just right, causing a full body shudder to work through him.

Palm over his mouth, Stiles' eyes still stare at his door. He feels weak in the knees, but Peter's grasp is iron clad on him. His toes curl and uncurl as his fingers dig into Peter's forearm. After calming down some, Stiles' hand lifts away from his mouth. 

"Okay, okay, c'mon, we should get going, right? _Please?_ " 

* * *

Peter _does_ love how vocal Stiles can get, but he has to admit that he likes this as well. Stiles' desperate attempts to stay quiet are hot, and while Peter can't see his face, he doesn't need to. He can read Stiles' reactions in every twitch of his body, and in every clench of his muscles. Oh, this definitely has the possibility of blowing up in his face, but the _risk_ inherent in this is far too arousing to pass up. 

The power that Peter has over Stiles like this _is_ rather heady. Oh, he has no plans for the sheriff to hear either of them; despite Peter's focused movements, he's _very_ aware of where Stiles' father is in the house at all times. He could easily tell Stiles that his father has settled down in front of the television with a beer, watching the news, but having Stiles' breathing stay quick and nervous and even more aroused because of it is incentive enough to hold back.

Peter _almost_ reaches up to snatch Stiles' hand away from his mouth when his fingers stroke over Stiles' prostate. Stiles is wet enough that Peter can feel a slickness in his own palm, where his fingers have curled, and the realization is thrilling. Peter licks his lips when he draws back, drinking in the sweetness of Stiles' slick. He can smell Stiles' arousal, can hear the rapid beat of his heart, and he can scent Stiles' nerves, but Peter isn't concerned. He's scented Stiles far more nervous before, and his pulse and scent are steady. Stiles does want this.

Though... it _is_ entirely too tempting to give in when Stiles says _please_. Peter hums in the back of his throat, pleased. He could put Stiles on his motorcycle, could have him drip his wetness all over the seat, but staying here and feeling Stiles squirm? That appeals more.

"Your father won't catch you," Peter says lowly, though he doesn't give a reason why. Instead, he curls his fingers again, lazily fucking the both of them into Stiles' hole. "I don't think I've ever smelled you more aroused before. Arguably even when you were in heat... Are you _sure_ you want to leave now?"

Peter leans in again, licking over Stiles' hole, chasing the slick that has dripped down as his fingers fuck into Stiles' wetness quicker, with more intent. 

* * *

Peter can't keep this up forever. Here's really not a good place to do much of anything. Maybe Stiles' Dad is busy _now,_ but there's no telling if that will remain the case. Given that Stiles is, ya know, rather worked up and wanting to do stuff with Peter, he doesn't want to get interrupted. He wants them to go back to Peter's place where he can be as loud as he wants and there's no real risk of getting interrupted or caught. 

It's now that Stiles is regretting his little urge to give Peter "a show" through the window. He should have just sucked it up and gone over to Peter's and done the show there. It would have still been fun and hot. Bitterly, Stiles can acknowledge that in a way Peter _is_ getting a show, it's just not the one that Stiles necessarily wants to be giving. 

But here he is. Standing in panties, dripping because Peter's turning him on, from his touch and words, and from this impossible situation they're both in. 

Peter sounds annoyingly smug, his fingers working him perfectly, and Stiles is shaking. It feels difficult to stand up, but Peter's arm is hooked around him, and Stiles knows that he's not at risk of falling (which is really an embarrassing thought, that he'd be one of _those_ Omegas that happen to get all fluttery or whatever). 

The urge to push back on Peter's finger is there, to seek out something harder and faster, but Peter's talking about how aroused he is, and Stiles is trying to figure out if it's bullshit or not. Is this the most aroused he's ever smelled? If it is, that's messed up.

Not that he can do anything about it. Stiles can't help that Peter does it for him. Peter plus panties plus days in between them messing around equals a horny Stiles. 

Stiles opens his mouth, but he's unable to formulate an answer because Peter's face is back at his ass and his damnable tongue is licking at him again. Stiles' moan is shaky and he tries to cut it off, but it's impossible when Peter's fingers begin to move faster. Stiles' hole clenches, and he doesn't stop himself as he tries to rock back, hungry for more. Stiles' hands are back on Peter's arm, grasping tightly, looking for some anchor. 

"No? M-maybe?" Stiles mumbles, not exactly sure of what to say. _Does_ he want to leave? _Does_ he want this to stop? "I don't know, Peter."

* * *

Stiles is telling the truth. He really does want to move on, to go back to Peter's place to do more. On one hand, Peter _is_ tempted. The idea of spreading Stiles out on his bed like this and fucking into his wetness is thrilling. Stiles is worked up enough that he wouldn't be able to last for long, and the thought of fucking him while over-sensitive _does_ appeal. 

Except, there's a small part of Stiles that does want to stay, that arguably _is_ into this. Peter can hear it in his pulse, can smell it in the thick scent of his arousal. Stiles grips his arm tightly, almost bruising, grounding himself, and Peter drinks deep from the slick he can reach with his tongue. 

He can smell that Stiles needs more, that he's not quite there yet despite being aroused, and it does make sense. A situation can be both arousing and too tense for anyone to _truly_ feel comfortable getting off. Orgasm is as mental as it is physical, and as much as Peter loves having Stiles squirm and worry himself over the situation, he's not going to get far like this.

Initially, Peter can admit that his plan had been to come over to Stiles' room, work him up, and then leave him high and dry and wanting. Orgasm isn't exactly a _punishment_ for assuming that Peter would happily be his chauffeur. Things are different now. For, while an orgasm isn't punishment, Stiles has been on edge and slightly distressed long enough over this to soften Peter's irritation. Stiles is being good now, and despite his initial annoyance, he's enjoying how desperate and charged the situation is.

Stiles won't be able to get off like this until his concerns die, though. He's desperate, conflicted, and as Peter licks and sucks hotly at his hole as his fingers thrust and Stiles rides back against both his fingers and his face, he makes his choice. 

"Relax," Peter instructs under his breath. "You're doing good. Your father is downstairs watching television, and loudly at that. He hasn't moved in ten minutes." 

Offering reassurance isn't really Peter's style, but he does want Stiles to come, now. His fingers curl with every thrust, pushing and demanding as Stiles desperately wiggles and squirms back against Peter's face and fingers. 

"He won't know. Trust me, you're safe."

* * *

Maybe Stiles needs to somehow work on his ability to resist Peter and go longer in-between their visits. Things would be easier if he was able to have some self-restraint, but self-restraint has never been a thing he's been able to manage with Peter - at least not since he had Peter touching and then fucking and knotting him. Stiles is beginning to wonder if it's not _just_ an amazing sex-thing, that maybe there's something more between them. Not that he knows what that something might be.

Because while Stiles has always thought of himself as a healthy Omega with a normal sex drive, he's pretty sure that his easiness in relation to Peter, how willing he is to be pushed, and try new things is on some other level entirely. 

Peter just does it for him. Continually. Like a 5-star rating. That's what Stiles would leave if he were to give some review of Peter's sexing-up abilities. As much as this benefits him, he doesn't necessarily want this to be the case. Peter's ego is already ginormous, after all.

That doesn't mean Peter doesn't annoy him, because he does, but not as much when they're doing anything physical. Physical like Peter's fingers working inside him and Peter's tongue licking up slick and licking at his stretched hole. Somehow the fingers and tongue combination are just... fuck, it's hot. It feels good to have fingers fucking into him, but the slippery heat of Peter's insistent tongue lapping at sensitive skin has Stiles worked up.

The idea of creaming in these lacy panties shouldn't be a turn on, but it is. But he doesn't want it to happen _here_. It's not supposed to happen here... But the idea of stopping would suck too. Why is everything complicated!?

Peter's words wash over him, Stiles focusing on the offered reassurance because that's what they are. Peter is reassuring him that his Dad has settled and watching the TV (and that Stiles is doing good which he really likes). The nervous tension in Stiles' muscles bleeds out, but curling fingers make it impossible for him to relax. It's a growing antsy pleasurable tension that thrums through Stiles now.

_'Trust me, you're safe.'_

The strangest urge suddenly courses through Stiles as he stops pushing back against Peter. He takes in a deep breath. 

"I wanna face you," he says. "Please?" Because he wants to see Peter as he comes. Stiles doesn't ask himself why.

* * *

Reassurance has never been something that Peter values, because he generally doesn't care when others are distressed unless it affects him directly. One could argue that that is the same thing that he's facing now, perhaps, but considering his plan had been to leave Stiles high and dry and abandon him in his room to squirm and ruefully jerk off after being worked up so much, that feels... less likely now. 

Peter enjoys the scent of Stiles' distress. It's like a potent cocktail in his senses, especially mixed with arousal, but apparently there's a limit to how much he'll tolerate. He hadn't expected to find that limit, but given the way that Peter feels Stiles' tension immediately ease at the reassurance, and given the way that _he_ feels satisfied by feeling Stiles' relaxation, apparently there _is_ a limit to the distress that he'll put Stiles through. 

Peter files that away in the back of his mind to look at later. For now, as his fingers fuck into Stiles' wetness and he laps up Stiles' slick like it's a foreign delicacy, he's got more pressing things on his mind.

So, when Stiles suddenly stops pushing back and instead asks to turn around, Peter does give pause. He considers denying the request until Stiles says _please_ , and really. Who is he to leave good manners unrewarded?

With a soft hum of assent, Peter draws back from Stiles' hole. He works his fingers free carefully and then urges Stiles to turn around to face him instead. Peter's hands squeeze at Stiles' ass appreciatively, feeling the lace against his skin. Peter pulls the panties aside again, slipping his hand down to press his fingers back inside Stiles' body to resume the quicker, pointed thrusting, but already Peter drinks in his fill again.

Stiles looks flushed and wrecked, his cock straining against the front of his panties, leaving a clear wet mark against the front of them. Peter ushers Stiles closer and leans in, pressing his cheek against Stiles' cock with a low, approving growl. He looks up at Stiles without moving away, and Peter breathes in his scent obviously.

"My, my. You _are_ close, aren't you?" Peter murmurs, tone low and hot. "Good. I want you to let yourself feel it. Look at me and _keep_ looking at me, and I'll let you come. Look away, and I'll stop."

* * *

_Safe_ isn't a word Stiles would really connect with Peter. Peter's a goddamn werewolf, a supernatural creature that has fangs and claws, super strength and speed, but on top of that, he's got questionable morals and way too much of an attitude. Peter's gone off the rails. Throw in the fact that Peter's secondary gender is an Alpha and Stiles is an Omega? It's a recipe for disaster (and some really sizzling-hot sex). 

At this moment, Stiles does trust Peter. Given how long this has gone on, and how far Peter's pushed tonight, it doesn't seem like he actually wants them to be caught, and that's a big thing for Stiles. As much as Stiles is enjoying this, he doesn't want to be caught, and if Peter is going to make sure that they aren't, Stiles is going to let himself go all out.

Stiles is aware that Peter happens to enjoy him feeling turned on _and_ antsy too, so the fact that he tries to reassure him? Stiles isn't entirely sure what or if it means something. Maybe it's that his nervousness was beginning to smell really bad? It's a possibility. Considering how sensitive Peter's super sniffer is, maybe it's just extra delicate tonight.

Peter may not often give reassurances, but Stiles has unfortunately been saying _please_ with Peter - only when he gets desperate. Like now, apparently. Skillful fingers slide out, and before Stiles can adjust to the respite from the pleasure, he turns around on wobbly legs. 

Because Peter is sitting, Stiles is taller. Even so, Peter looks nothing if not fully in control and confident. It's nothing new, but somehow the height difference between them is strangely hot. Stiles stares down at Peter, rapt at being able to see him because they don't always face each other all that often... And Peter said he was _safe_ , and that's--

Peter's quick to slip fingers back inside him and Stiles' mouth falls open in a silent moan as Peter gets back to fucking him. Peter goes a step further, face leaning in to practically nuzzle against his cock. The sight makes Stiles tremble, he sees the heat in Peter's eyes and Stiles can't imagine looking away.

It's different than watching him or them in the reflection of a mirror. They're so close like this, Peter practically holding him, and Stiles is close to coming. Peter's fingers pump into his slick-drenched hole and the warmth of Peter's cheek is felt through the thin lace panties against his cock. 

Stiles doesn't think. He rocks back against Peter's fingers and as his orgasm grows nearer, Stiles grabs at Peter's hair, fingers clenching and pulling Peter's head up. Stiles does something he might severely regret, does something he's never done before - he kisses Peter. 


	6. Gift Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the completion of this scene! 😊

* * *

* * *

Stiles is close. Peter can smell the heat rolling off of him in waves like this. He can smell Stiles' growing arousal and he knows that it's not going to be much longer before Stiles can no longer hold on. Peter watches him, hungry for the sight of Stiles' pupils blown so wide, and his lips parted as he breathes quickly. He looks desperate, looks just shy of losing it, and each pulsing twitch of Stiles' muscles only makes that more apparent.

Peter pays no attention to his _own_ arousal, because while it has become pressing, that isn't his current focus. Oh, he'd easily bend Stiles over and fuck him in his own bed. He'd gladly wrench pleasant childhood memories away and replace them with something more depraved and debauched. But that is something that Peter feels he should probably work into, especially considering how antsy Stiles had been mere seconds ago. Baby steps.

Peter can feel Stiles getting closer, but the more he thrusts his fingers, and the wetter he feels Stiles getting, the more he begins to notice the look in Stiles' eyes. Peter considers him, curious, but before he can _really_ decide what to ask, Stiles suddenly reaches down. Peter goes still in his own curiosity and he considers resisting, but he sees the desperation and the focus in Stiles' eyes and he makes his decision. 

He lets Stiles pull him up, lets Stiles bend down. What Peter _isn't_ expecting is for Stiles to kiss him.

They've never kissed before, and the feeling is a little clumsy with desperation and arousal, but Peter feels a spark of heat mingle with shock. When it comes down to it, arousal is quick to follow, because Stiles _is_ kissing Peter after Peter had been eating him out, and the idea of Stiles tasting himself on Peter's lips is hot. 

But they've never kissed before. That Stiles is kissing him _now_ does mean something, but Peter isn't sure what. He does kiss back, shocked as he is, but it's more out of reflex than anything. And, after a second, Peter pulls back, breaking the kiss to send Stiles a curious look.

"Should I ask what that was for?" He asks, his fingers slowing to a stop. He doesn't remove them from Stiles' hole, but he doesn't push Stiles closer to orgasm.

* * *

Oh. He's kissing Peter. Stiles is kissing him, wanting to kiss him. Peter's mouth has pretty much been everywhere _but_ Stiles' lips. Peter's kissed his hole, his shoulder, neck, his dick... But those never really seemed like a kiss-kiss. Instead, they were along the lines of Peter using his mouth to make Stiles a wibblywobbly Omega mess, or to vary the sensation of Peter using his teeth. Stuff like that.

This is a kiss. A real mouth-to-mouth kiss. Peter's stubble is softened, and it's only after a second that Stiles realizes it's because of his slick. He can even taste his slick on Peter's lips. Which is an interesting sensation. He's smelled it before on Peter's face or fingers, but this is... This is different. This is more intimate.

He can tell that Peter's shocked, but that shock doesn't stop Peter from kissing him back. The angle is a little off, and as much as Stiles wants to kiss Peter, he's somewhat awkward with it because he's surprised himself that he went for it.

The kiss doesn't last long and it's Peter who pulls away. Stiles is panting, suddenly feeling more out of breath than he should be. Uncertainty is all over his face when Peter looks up at him quizzically. Stiles' hands drop away from Peter's hair. Omegas initiating kisses? Not really normal, but Peter's usually fine with him showing some attitude, so who knows? 

Peter's question has Stiles flushing, but more out of embarrassment. 

"No," Stiles blurts back. He doesn't want Peter asking what the kiss was for because then he'd have to come up with some answer. But Peter's fingers stopping makes Stiles think that they're going to have some talk about it anyway, so he needs to say something. 

"It was nothing. Sorry." He pushes back on Peter's fingers, hoping to encourage him to move on from this.

* * *

Peter's not against kissing. In fact, despite a slightly rough start, Stiles is good at it. He's thorough and eager, and Peter finds himself adapting quick enough to the feeling. It's only when he breaks the kiss that he scents Stiles' embarrassment spike, and it's that spike that makes Peter realize that - while they'd been kissing - Stiles' slick-scent had warmed even further. He'd smelled sweeter, and despite normal societal norms shaming Omegas for taking initiative, Peter has never subscribed to that school of thought.

It's Stiles' embarrassment that catches his attention now, though. And, though Stiles' fingers do leave his hair, Stiles hastily says that Peter _shouldn't_ ask about the kiss. Which, of course, means that Peter wants to ask even more. He's tempted to push now, to cajole Stiles into explaining despite his clear embarrassment, but when Stiles apologizes and then rocks his ass back against Peter's fingers, Peter makes a split-second decision.

Still aware of the Sheriff downstairs, Peter slides his fingers free of Stiles' hole. Before Stiles can do more than whine his complaint, Peter's hands go to Stiles' hips and he lifts Stiles up effortlessly. Pulling him close, he wordlessly instructs Stiles to straddle his lap, and only when Peter feels the heat from Stiles' body against his lap do his hands slide back down to squeeze Stiles' ass.

"Do you _want_ me to kiss you?" Peter wonders, tone casual, if conversational. He works his hand under the back of Stiles' panties again and - making eye contact - Peter slides his two fingers back in, deep. When he fucks them forward, it's hard enough to make Stiles' hips rock forward. Peter feels the hardness of Stiles' cock against his stomach, and he feels the friction against his own straining dick rather sweetly. It's a win-win as far as he's concerned. 

"Because I must say. It's not exactly a hardship. If that's something you _want_ , well... I won't judge."

* * *

Ah. What the hell... There was no need to kiss Peter. It's been months of no mouth-meeting-mouth action, and they'd been just fine. Kissing is... Different. It's intimate, because you have nonsexual kissing. Not that that was it, but kissing has more of a romantic aspect to it. At least potentially? And Stiles may not use the word _safe_ with Peter, but he definitely doesn't use _romantic_ or _intimate_ either. 

This weird panty-wearing night is getting away from Stiles. He's no longer staring at the door in fear of his Dad catching them, but not everything is going just peachy. Why couldn't Peter just kiss him back without having to make comments or ask him questions about what he's doing? Why does it matter that he wanted to kiss Peter (and did)?

What Peter does in response is take out his fingers and Stiles frowns, making a disgruntled sound because he doesn't want things stopping. But then he's being lifted onto Peter's lap, his legs wrapping around the Alpha. Like this, Stiles can feel how hard Peter is and he likes the idea that his slick is going to get onto Peter's jeans, but it's also _close_. Really close. Stiles looks at Peter, and Peter looks back.

Peter doesn't sound at all bothered when he asks if Stiles _wants_ a kiss. Still, Stiles is biting on his bottom lip, unsure why this needs to be any sort of conversation - but also getting it because he's thinking and worrying about it. Peter doesn't wait for any reply, a hand working under Stiles' ass and moving the panties aside to slip fingers back inside. This time, Peter is forceful and Stiles actually jerks forward with the effort.

The idea of kissing not being some hardship and Peter adding on that he wouldn't judge has Stiles wanting to scowl, but he's not able to, not when Peter's fingers are giving it to him hard and fast. 

Stiles shudders and gulps in a breath before muttering, "Fine, okay, I want you to kiss me! But it's not like it's anything special. I also want you to fuck me. You gonna do that too?" 

* * *

Peter isn't playing fair, but since when has he _ever_ played fair? Sometimes it's much easier to get what he wants out of people by playing a little dirty, and Stiles has never been an exception. Getting him these panties to begin with had been playing vaguely unfair in the long run, because Stiles hadn't necessarily _asked_ for them. Peter had just made a correct assumption, and given the way that Stiles is still flushed and aroused and desperate, the lingerie is a hit. So, often times Peter's assumptions _do_ tend to pay off. 

Stiles doesn't look particularly happy that Peter had pulled back to talk, but he also doesn't protest Peter's fingers fucking into him either. Stiles' body all but shakes with pleasure, and Peter breathes in, reminded again just how close Stiles had been before this whole _kissing_ thing had started. It's still something that Peter feels he should ask about, but given how warm Stiles is on his lap, and how Peter can already smell Stiles' slick soaking into the front of his jeans, he's less inclined to talk than he is to act.

Except... Stiles looks vaguely uncomfortable. Frankly, that's like waving catnip right in front of a cat's nose as far as Peter's concerned. So, while the thought of fucking Stiles does settle itself comfortably in Peter's mind, he finds himself smiling at Stiles' little outburst, fucking his fingers in just a little quicker. Just to make a point.

"Why Stiles... right in your bed with your father downstairs? I didn't think you had it in you. Or, well. I suppose it's not in you _yet_ , but the night is young."

It's a horrible joke, but it's not like Stiles is in a great mind to draw away right now. Peter wets his lips, thoughtful, and when he leans up again, it's to brush a slower, teasing kiss over Stiles' lips. There's no substance to it. It's just a tease, but it's _more_ than satisfying. 

"I'll tell you what. If you reach down and undo my jeans and show me just how much you _do_ want to be fucked, right here, then I'll gladly give you _everything_ that you want."

* * *

As with most things with Peter, it's easier to just give in. But that doesn't mean that Stiles will go and do that immediately. It's no fun if he does, and he knows that Peter enjoys his attitude-infused personality... although there still is a part of Stiles that wonders if he'll ever go too far and turn Peter off entirely. Which would suck, but it wouldn't be the end of the world. Stiles is pretty sure he can't _not_ be himself anyway. 

So, he gives in and tells Peter that yes, _fine_ , kissing would be nice. Because why wouldn't it be? He happens to be a big fan of Peter's mouth, so it only makes sense that Stiles would also like Peter's mouth on his mouth.

But Stiles can't just say he wants to be kissed without upping the ante. That's how they work, how they operate. Give and take, push and pull. And maybe Peter is pushing him, but Stiles is fully capable of pushing right back. He's emboldened by Peter's reassurance, so why shouldn't they fuck? It's what Stiles wants and given the teasing and how good he's being? He thinks he deserves it.

The lame joke almost registers as some 'dad joke' but Stiles is pretty sure that most dad's wouldn't actually joke like that. Any reply that Stiles might give is kissed away by the slightest brush of Peter's lips over his, and yep, Stiles like that.

He is somewhat surprised that Peter doesn't put up any fight, but Stiles isn't going to complain. His hands are shooting down in between them as he draws away slightly to allow him room to get at Peter's jeans. Given the fact that Peter's fingers are still inside of him, it does take Stiles a few attempts to be successful at unfastening the button and dragging down the zipper. 

Hungrily, Stiles is reaching in and working Peter's cock out. It's hard and hot in his hand and Stiles squeezes at the base appreciatively. 

"I know you wanna fuck me too," Stiles murmurs. "Look how hard you are."

* * *

Peter isn't above a little coercion, but as he watches the hungry look in Stiles' eyes all but double at his agreement, he wonders if _Stiles_ isn't above a little of it himself too. It's food for thought, and as Peter watches Stiles shakily draw back and then immediately reach down to work Peter's dick free of his jeans, he drinks in the sight of how eager Stiles is to get what he wants. 

From worried about being caught, to risking everything just to have Peter's cock inside of him? Stiles just keeps on surprising Peter every time. Besides, though he doesn't confirm it, Peter _does_ want this. He wants to feel Stiles' body squeezing down around him, wants to bury himself in slick, wet heat and feel Stiles struggle to stay quiet. 

The thought is enough to make Peter's cock ache, and as Stiles finally unfastens his jeans and pulls his dick out through them, Peter glances down, watching as Stiles' fingers curl around him and squeeze. He's learning, because he squeezes _low_ , right where Peter's knot wants to form, and the pleasure of it has Peter's breath hitching, his fingers fucking into Stiles' ass a little deeper in reward. 

"I don't think I ever said that I _didn't_ ," Peter says, leaning in to brush a rougher, scraping kiss over Stiles' throat. He lets his stubble scratch over Stiles' skin, lets his teeth scrape and half-bite a small mark to the surface, and he rolls his hips in a slow grind, letting Stiles feel the heat and hardness of his cock. Since he seems to like it so much. 

"And _on top_ of wanting to fuck you, I'd like you to keep those on while I do," Peter growls, giving Stiles' panties a quick tug. "I want you to make a mess of them."

* * *

There was a time that Stiles wouldn't have reached out and touched Peter's cock and made such a comment. Not that Stiles was all subservient and meek, but he used to ask. Because Peter was new and the first Alpha he'd been with. Given how their crazy first time went, it made sense to figure out how to proceed. 

But practice makes perfect and they've been practicing _a lot_ over the past few months. There's a degree of familiarity that Stiles has with Peter. Of course, Peter still shakes things up - Peter wouldn't be Peter if he wasn't being a shit disturber in some way, and likewise with Stiles.

Them fucking isn't a smart idea, but Stiles can't be concerned about being smart right now. Not with the goddamn lace panties trapping his dick, not with Peter's fingers making him so wet as they pump inside of him, and not with Peter's teeth scraping over his skin. Peter's scent - Peter's _arousal_ \- is thick and spicy and Stiles suddenly wishes they were more naked, skin-on-skin naked. Well, he's almost naked, but Peter sure isn't. 

But now isn't the time for Peter to be getting naked. Stiles pointedly squeezes at Peter's cock, his thighs trembling. The tug to the panties and Peter's accompanying comment makes Stiles groan. His hand strokes up once. 

"You want me to make a mess of them, get your cock in my ass," Stiles retorts as he lets go of Peter's dick and reaches back to yank at Peter's wrist. Fingers need to be swapped with Peter's cock asap.

* * *

Stiles' father is downstairs, and so fucking Stiles in his bedroom probably _isn't_ the smartest idea that Peter has ever had, but it is one that he refuses to compromise on. Not when Stiles is as desperate as he is, and not when he smells like he does. Perhaps this night hadn't gone the way that Peter had initially intended it to, but Stiles had been punished enough. He'd been on edge and nervous, distressed and even beginning to smell like he'd wanted Peter to stop. 

He doesn't want Peter to stop _now_.

The squeeze to Peter's cock is enough to make him groan, but that additional stroke has him rolling his hips up into the grip of Stiles' fist. It's quick and not entirely satisfying, but it's a perfect tease. Stiles reaches back, desperate, his scent climbing, and Peter feels the tug to his wrist. Immediately, with a low growl that rumbles through his chest, Peter slides his fingers free and reaches down to his own cock. He doesn't _need_ to slick himself up, because Stiles is wet enough to take him, but he slicks up his cock just the same.

"Lift," Peter instructs, helping Stiles lift his hips to make room for his cock. Reaching down, Peter pulls Stiles' panties away from his ass with one thumb, feeling the already-damp fabric shift easy under his touch. It forces the lingerie harder against Stiles' cock, pinning it down, but this isn't about _Stiles'_ cock. It's about Peter's. 

Pausing, Peter listens for a few seconds to ensure that the Sheriff is still downstairs, but when he's gauged this as safe, he hastily lines his cock up against Stiles' hole, rubs it over the gathered slick and heat, and then presses forward. He might not go fast, but he doesn't go slow either. He goes _exactly_ how fast he knows that Stiles can take it.

* * *

Being reckless isn't necessarily in Stiles' nature - not unless it's to like, help his friends or his Dad... but with _Peter_? It's probably happening far too often, but fuck it. His friends have been gettin' some for longer than he has. He's totally entitled to some booty action and allowed to let loose. 

No one is getting hurt, and speaking practically, forging some bond with Peter is likely a smart decision in the long run. You know, for the pack. Having a better relationship with Peter could be beneficial in terms of securing his help--

Oh, who is Stiles kidding? That wasn't his intention at all when he sought Peter out after that magically induced crazy Heat-fuck. He'd wanted more of _Peter_. He'd had a taste of something delicious and he was hungry for a second helping... And then a third and fourth. His own dildos wouldn't do. Peter, the prick, had been right. 

Tonight may be all depraved with the panties gig and where they happen to be at, but Peter's also calmed him down. Peter kissed him because it's something Stiles likes (and wants). It feels a little different - not that Stiles is really thinking about those differences now. He wants Peter's cock inside, he needs to be fucked, and he's going to be. 

Peter doesn't dally and in a handful of seconds fingers are pulled out, Stiles is readjusted, the panties are pulled aside again and then Peter's thick cockhead is rubbing against his hole. Stiles shudders, trying his best to hold himself up and still until Peter's hips lift and Stiles is breached. Then it's Stiles sinking down onto fullness and heat as his body is forced to stretch and take it. His hands grip onto Peter's shoulders to steady himself, breath quick.

Only after Stiles is fully seated on Peter's cock does he clench and go at Peter's mouth, kissing him hungrily. Nothing teasing, nothing light and unsure. Stiles knows what he wants.

* * *

Maybe this hadn't been the plan, but fuck the plan. Peter prefers this one. Perhaps he's being a little biased, because the feeling of Stiles' wet, slick heat slowly sinking down on his cock _is_ a rather convincing argument, but he'd like to think he's simply being adaptable. Stiles certainly is.

Stiles takes him like a _dream_. Once, a month ago or so, he might have winced or asked Peter to wait, or squirmed his discomfort, but not this time. He's more aroused now than he's been in the past, and while the stretch might be a little much, he takes it greedily, letting the weight of his body control the speed at which he sits on Peter's cock.

Peter lets out a low breath when he bottoms out, but before he can center himself, Stiles all but lunges in, his grip on Peter's shoulders tight and his kisses hungry and confident. It sends a thrill through Peter; he's always appreciated Stiles' forwardness, and that mixed with such a show of confidence has him kissing back, his hands dropping to Stiles' ass to hold as he rolls his hips upwards.

He thinks he could have easily fucked Stiles just like that, and in a sense, he _does_ want to stay on the bed. But when he hears the slight squeak of Stiles' bed frame at the movement, Peter realizes that this isn't viable. The sheriff would hear. 

So, with a low growl under his breath, Peter stands up, holding Stiles tight. He doesn't break the kiss - in fact he makes a point to bite and suck at Stiles' lips - as he kicks Stiles' discarded shirt towards the window and follows it across the room. Within seconds, he has Stiles' back pressed against the wall, Peter's jeans sliding down his legs. He maneuvers the shirt under them, and before Stiles can ask about _any_ of this, Peter draws his hips back and then thrusts back in, hard, his hands gripping Stiles' ass tightly. 

* * *

This is both the same and something new. It's something different. Getting fucked by Peter isn't new, not anymore, but being in Stiles' own room? The panties? The kissing? It feels like things are getting blurrier somehow... not that things were even really defined before - at least not explicitly - but now things have shifted.

It doesn't matter. Stiles is full of Peter's cock, the pressure and the stretch fading into the background. Peter kisses him back - why wouldn't he? The kissing is new. The kissing is also hot. Peter doesn't disappoint him or try and take back control. It's a hungry meeting of mouths and Stiles gives into the heady pleasure swirling around him. 

After Peter rolls his hips, Stiles doesn't even hear the slight squeak of his bed. When Peter is suddenly standing. Stiles isn't at any risk of falling, but he instinctively wraps his legs around Peter as best as he can.

Peter being able to so easily support him is a thrill in and of itself. The kiss continues, Peter's teeth nipping and providing just the most delicious jolts of sharp sensation. Stiles isn't really paying attention to where Peter is going, but he does end up pushed against one of his walls - pretty much the only space that doesn't have anything pinned or hung up on it. 

Peter's hands are on his ass, Stiles' arms looped around Peter's neck, his fingers stroking through Peter's hair at the back of his head. When Peter thrusts, Stiles' groan is muffled by Peter's mouth - another perk of kissing, it seems.

Pressed against and pinned to the wall as he is, Stiles' body is a live wire. His cock, trapped in the panties, hard and untouched. Peter fucks him good and Stiles shudders as he's forced to pull away from the kiss to try and get more oxygen. Stiles' lips feel swollen and tingly as he looks at Peter with wide eyes. He drags in a deep breath. 

"Feels so fucking good," Stiles comments in a ragged, soft voice. He doesn't really know why he says it.

* * *

Even with the Sheriff downstairs, they're both still going to do this. Peter's past the point of caring about his initial plans. How could he care when Stiles' body is wrapped so tightly around him, and when Peter can feel the copious amounts of slick he'd cultivated as he thrusts deep into Stiles' body. He can feel the slick of it against his thighs, proof that Stiles had leaked even more, and he knows that Stiles' panties are going to be a delicious mess after this. Peter is _counting_ on it.

The change in position is sudden, but it's nothing that Stiles shouldn't be ready for. So, when Stiles reaches up instinctively to loop his arms around Peter's neck and hold on tighter, he's not surprised. What he is slightly surprised about is the look on Stiles' face when the kiss breaks. Peter only needs to steal one look to note how flushed and desperate Stiles looks. His lips are kiss-red, his eyes dazed with pleasure, and when he speaks, the words go right to Peter's cock. 

"Good," he answers, his voice a low growl. "It's supposed to."

Bracing Stiles against the wall, Peter fucks up into him. His thrusts aren't gentle or sweet; he knows what Stiles can take, and he knows how much Stiles likes to feel a lot of sensation all at once. Stiles' body is tight, his hole wet and slick, and Peter's cock aches at the feeling of being buried so deep in Stiles' ass. Each thrust carries with it the wet drag of lace against his cock, already soaking through the way he'd wanted. 

But it's seeing that dazed look in Stiles' eyes that really pushes Peter further. He eases one of his hands away from Stiles' ass, knowing he's strong enough to keep him lifted with his other hand. Slowly, he slides his hand up Stiles' chest, touching, thumbing his nipples, all the way up to Stiles' throat, where Peter stops. Carefully, he presses down _just_ a little, just enough to restrict a bit of Stiles' air, pushing for more sensation as he leans in and catches Stiles' lips in another kiss.

\--

Obviously, it feels good. He's an Omega and Peter's an Alpha - biologically they're a perfect fit. Peter can smell how turned on he is, can feel how wet he is, how he's clenching, and desperate for it... There's no real logical reason to say what Stiles says, to give a comment about how good it feels, but it slips out. Stiles tries to not compliment Peter too often because Peter's ego doesn't need to be stroked. It's something Peter usually proves daily.

Even though it's dim in his room, Stiles can feel Peter's eyes on him, which he definitely likes. This time there's no mirror for Stiles to look at, so he can't see his own expression, can't see how wrecked he probably looks. But Peter can. It's now that Stiles thinks of that damn mirror, how he'd be able to see himself, to see how Peter makes him feel, to see Peter looking at him. The mirror _had_ made Stiles feel embarrassed and a little self-conscious even because he's not werewolf-ripped, but he wasn't able to fixate about it because Peter kept making him feel good.

Peter seems to be really skilled at that. Too skilled. Surprisingly, Peter doesn't boast or rub it in. His voice is low and almost gravely, and it only has Stiles' stomach twisting in pleasure more. He doesn't think they've ever fucked in _this_ position before, but Stiles is a fan. He likes experiencing how strong Peter is; he likes how close they are and that he's able to just lean forward and kiss Peter. It's still exciting that he _can._

Peter continues to fuck him, each thrust hard and deep and perfect. Stiles' doesn't close his eyes, he doesn't try to hide. He's mindful to attempt to be quiet, however, but Peter had said they were safe, so he trusts him.

Stiles doesn't realize Peter's other hand begins to move until it's settling over his throat. No warning signs light up, at least not until Peter's hand presses down and Stiles feels his throat constricted. It's not panic-inducing. It's worry-inducing, but Stiles doesn't do anything to stop it. 

He's stunned for a few seconds until he registers that _fuck,_ this is hot too. Peter is carefully choking him. While fucking him. It makes Stiles narrow in on everything his body is feeling - the intensity, the mounting pleasure, the edge of danger, Peter's heat and touch, Peter's _control._

When Peter kisses him, Stiles' eyes finally shut. He's scratching at Peter's shoulders, frantic, but not trying to get away or stop, instead, trying to wiggle to fuck himself back on Peter's cock.

* * *

The urge strikes Peter out of nowhere, but he doesn't stop and wonder if it's a good idea. Most of the things that Stiles has wound up liking had come from Peter just _doing_ something and damning the consequences. As counter-intuitive as it seems, Stiles _likes_ being pushed. He likes being forced into new situations, into new sensations and experiences. If he ever protests something that Peter does, he has his safeword, but Peter doubts he'll hear it tonight.

The flex of Stiles' throat under Peter's palm sends a rush of something powerful and hot through Peter's body. He doesn't slow in his thrusts, doesn't try and ease Stiles into them any more. If anything, Peter's thrusts speed up, each one harder and expectant. He knows that Stiles can take it. He knows that Stiles _wants_ to take it.

Just like Stiles wants to try this. Breathplay isn't Peter's go-to by any means, but when the mood strikes... well. It's a heady rush of power. It's sexual, yes, but it's more than that. It's the fact that Stiles is putting his life and safety in Peter's hands, even knowing everything that Peter has done. So, when Stiles' eyes slide shut and he gives in, kissing Peter back enthusiastically and scratching frantically at his shoulders, Peter groans low and quiet under his breath.

His hold tightens, pressing firmer now that he knows that Stiles likes it. There's a hint of worry there - that lingering distrust that everyone in the pack has for Peter - but Stiles' arousal skyrockets as Peter fucks him. The kiss is biting and rough, a little messy and good because of it, and Peter feels Stiles' pulse flutter madly against his palm as he snaps his hips forward, fucking rough into Stiles' body.

"Hit my shoulder, _hard_ if you want me to stop," Peter instructs between kisses. Like this, Stiles can't say his safeword. Peter's an ass, but he won't take away Stiles' ability _to_ consent. "And don't try to hold back. I know you're close. Do you want my knot?" Peter growls, biting at Stiles' lip. 

* * *

What's kinkier? The panties, fucking while his Dad's downstairs, or the choking? All of the above is Stiles' answer. It's all hot, is the problem. Some big piping hot mix of things that Peter so effortlessly manages to do and pull him into. Given how kinky and depraved things have been getting, Stiles has no idea what they're going to be up to next.

Peter's capable of murder and mayhem, and yet his hand is pressing on Stiles' throat and the potential danger is thrilling. Maybe it shouldn't be. 

But it is, and Stiles doesn't care. The lack of oxygen feels reminiscent of a Heat, this haze settling over his mind and body, and Stiles is rapidly growing addicted to it. He might be growing addicted to Peter, and he's pretty sure that _is_ a problem.

If it is a problem, Stiles doesn't give a shit about it right now, though. He doesn't realize that he probably couldn't use his safeword given that Peter's choking him, but that familiar thick cock is also driving into Stiles again and again, so there's not much thinking to be done. 

The wet sounds of fucking and skin are there, and as Peter hits his prostate, Stiles' body feels jittery and hot and perfect. Peter's hand presses firmer against his throat, a struggle for oxygen beginning to set in, but his orgasm is close and that's what he's hungry for.

Peter's sudden explanation - the way to get the choking to stop - momentarily stuns Stiles. Because it's Peter being responsible and possibly even caring, further proving that maybe trusting Peter - at least in this - might not be such a bad idea.

All Stiles can do after Peter asks if he wants his knot is to give a gasp of a moan as he nods his head _yes_. He wants Peter's knot filling and fucking him. He wants Peter to lose it inside of him - because of him. Stiles' hands grip at the back of Peter's hair as he focuses into moving just right in order to chase after his orgasm. His heart is beating so quick, his lungs starting to cry out for air, but it's intense and pulls him under. 

When Peter makes him come, Stiles goes tense with pleasure. Maybe this isn't how he wanted the night to go, but he's got no complaints now.

* * *

Peter knows the rush that a lack of oxygen brings. He knows that were he in the mind to, he could pull Stiles into the faintest realms of unconsciousness without risking his safety. He could monitor Stiles' pulse, his scent, his breathing, and know exactly how far 'too far' is, and he could skirt that line so closely that it would border on danger. A part of him is tempted to do just that, but the rest of him is far more taken with the fact that Stiles is so enthusiastically allowing him to do this. 

There's no protest. There's only pleasure. There's only Stiles' hands clawing at his back and gripping tight at his hair, enough to hurt, but the bite of pain only adds to it. There's only Stiles' body tightening and twitching around him the closer that he gets to his own orgasm. And there's only Stiles managing a small nod of enthusiastic consent as he suddenly rolls and twitches his body, searching and seeking _more_ , which Peter gives to him finally.

Peter fucks Stiles hard, each thrust as quiet as he can make it while still pounding Stiles properly. Peter keeps his senses open, listening for the sheriff, and the moment blurs into a rush as he feels the first swellings of his knot begin. Peter growls low in his throat, pressing his hand against Stiles' until he can hear the moment that Stiles' air cuts off completely.

It's almost immediate. Stiles seems to realize it, has a moment to understand that he can't breathe, and just like that, his muscles clamp down hard and twitch as he comes. Peter drives forward just as hard, not giving Stiles a break, but as Stiles' body clenches down around Peter's already-growing knot, it doesn't take nearly as long for it to catch. 

Even Peter is surprised when he goes to pull out and can't, and the sudden clench around the sensitive base of his cock coupled with the fluttering twitches makes his knot swell so quickly that it's dizzying. Peter grinds his teeth, groaning softly in the back of his throat, and just like that, he's coming. He snaps his hips in deep, driving his knot home, and he shudders, filling his Omega the way he _needs_ it.

Without warning, Peter takes his hand away, still caught in his own orgasm, because he wants Stiles to feel that dizzying rush of air right when he can appreciate it the most.

* * *

Later, Stiles is going to look up the physiological effects of asphyxiation coupled with sexual pleasure and orgasm. It's something that sounds pretty interesting. Stiles can understand why it's arousing mentally - at least in his situation with Peter - but there's gotta be physical effects too, and that's what Stiles is curious about. This isn't the first time he's researched something sexual in relation to Peter, and it probably won't be the last. Peter's always been interesting to him which should likely unnerve Stiles, but somehow doesn't.

He comes inside the panties, dick shooting hard and making them a sticky mess as the come seeps into the fabric. It never feels especially good to come with boxers on, but practicality is out the window now. Whenever he's fucked - either by fingers or Peter's dick - the resulting orgasm is phenomenal, muscles clenching, a deep burst of pleasure resulting from the internal stimulation.

But when Peter _knots_ him? It's amazing, taking that ten out of ten easily to a twelve, because something instinctual just basks in the resulting pressure and fullness of that knot swelling and locking them in place. It's no different now. 

It's actually heightened by the choking, and when Peter unloads into his ass _and_ pulls his hand away, there's a dizzying rush of oxygen that makes him feel floaty and electrified at the same time. Stiles shakes and shudders on Peter's knot, thoughts of damp panties and the potential of being caught far away from his mind. Stiles' fingers loosen in Peter's hair as his head falls forward, resting against Peter's shoulder while his arms come to hang uselessly.

"Too good," Stiles mumbles, dazed and filter shot. "You're too good at this... Better watch out or I might get too addicted and not let you go."

* * *

The deep scent of pleasure and satisfaction is just the icing on the cake as Stiles' muscles clamp down around Peter's knot. It tickles something instinctual in Peter's mind, a need to satisfy, a need to _impress._ He's never been a slave to his instincts before, except in the unfortunate situation of his initial recovery, but like this, he can see the appeal. 

Stiles' hole is wet and hot and tight, clenching down hard enough to almost make Peter see stars. He thinks, somewhat absently, that the breathplay is somehow making it better for _him_ as well because Stiles is responding so perfectly, but it's a distant thought. Peter's reality is so much more engaging, because the tight, desperate grip that Stiles has in his hair soon eases and Stiles shudders viscerally as the height of pleasure slowly fades off into his aftershocks.

Peter keeps holding him up, both of his hands moving to Stiles' ass just because they _can_ , but Stiles gives up trying to hold himself up. His arms hang loose, his body slumping forward, and for one half second, Peter wonders if Stiles has passed out. Then Stiles' voice comes, his words slurred and _dripping_ with satisfaction, and Peter chuckles breathlessly, knot still throbbing with his own residual pleasure.

"There are worse things to be addicted to," Peter manages back, though Stiles' words _do_ register as... important. It's a distant thought in the back of his mind, but even that distant thought can acknowledge that it feels like something has shifted. 

"You might as well stick around. At least _I'll_ always make sure to satisfy you. And with you..." Peter squeezes Stiles' ass, rolling his hips just to feel the tug at his knot. "The feeling is mutual."

* * *

It's supposed to be a threat, Stiles thinks. Warn Peter that he's getting addicted to doing the _bang_ - _bang_ , and that Peter should maybe be wary of Stiles... of Stiles what? Getting clingy? Wanting more? It's difficult to think and sort out anything. His heart is thumping crazily in his chest, his limbs feel like jello, his head hazy with pleasure, his ass and insides full with Peter's come and knot, and that delicious knot is pressed up against Stiles' prostate.

Stiles is spent and satisfied, and yet sort of delirious with a stray desire for _more_. With sticky ruined panties and his body's oxygen levels evening out, Stiles is safe with Peter. 

Peter had said he was safe, and that runs through Stiles' mind on repeat. It's something he doesn't want to cling onto, something that shouldn't matter so much, but given the kind of shit that happens in Beacon Hills? Having one night with Peter where Peter's aware and ensuring that nothing bad happens? It matters to Stiles.

It has him strung out, and despite the warning or threat or joke that Stiles gives, Peter doesn't call him out and simply goes along with it. While it's not always easy, Peter _has_ always satisfied him - that's true. When Peter rolls his hips, Stiles can't help it. He clenches and grinds down on Peter's knot. 

_'The feeling is mutual.'_

His own physical actions coupled with the words have sensitivity shooting through Stiles as his toes curl. Despite being overwhelmed, Stiles tries to hump back and forth, to feel how big Peter's knot is and feel it shift while the come and his own juices are locked in. Peter's thighs are probably wet from his slick and Stiles likes the idea of leaking all over Peter. Maybe he can't do any claiming, but the thought of Peter smelling like his slick and Stiles smelling like Peter's come? It's fucking hot. 

Stiles pants, his dick twitching and sore, half-hard from both mental and physical arousal. As Stiles squirms around, he kisses at Peter's shoulder with a weak moan. He's probably addicted to Peter. It wasn't a warning.

* * *

There are Omegas who can get Heat-drunk, where they seem almost reduced to base urges. Some people simply call it being 'fucked out', but Peter can tell the difference between those two extremes. A Heat-drunk Omega hardly has anything left in their minds except for sex. It's not a good thing; it's dangerous, both for the Omega in question, and for anyone nearby.

Being 'fucked out' is different. It's a deep, bodily exhaustion-or-need brought on by _amazing_ sex. Normal people have a hard time telling the difference, but Peter can. The way that Stiles seems almost dazed, the way that his pulse keeps rushing and slowing and the way that his scent never loses that flicker of arousal and need pushes him further into 'fucked out' than anything else, and the pride of having done that swells in Peter's chest. 

The thought that Stiles might still want _more_ is both interesting and thrilling, but Peter doesn't know it's a certainty until Stiles suddenly pushes back against him, as though trying to fuck himself back on Peter's knot. The sensation sends a sharp lance of pleasure through Peter's dick, but more than that, he can recognize this for what it is. Stiles feels safe enough to push for more. He no longer feels ashamed of wanting - or needing - more, and despite his own exhaustion, Peter is more than happy to oblige. 

Seeing Stiles like this, scenting his arousal and the rush of his slick, feeling the weak kisses to his shoulder, and the way that Stiles squirms back against him? It's intensely arousing, and Peter has never left a partner unsatisfied before. 

Peter rumbles a low growl in the back of his throat, something soothing, and he makes a point to roll his hips forward. It's nothing more than a grind, but he knows his knot has to be pressing against Stiles' prostate, and it won't take much. Yet that doesn't stop Peter from bringing one hand up and gently easing Stiles' panties down in the front. He brings them down just enough to free Stiles' cock - half-hard and likely sensitive, so he keeps his touch careful as he wraps a hand around Stiles' dick and begins to stroke. 

"That's right. I said I'll always satisfy you. Never shy away from needing more," Peter says, leaning in to mouth at Stiles' throat. He keeps grinding his hips, every tug of his knot against Stiles' hole just giving Peter that much more sensation as well. "One more. I know you can manage one more for me. Come on, Stiles. Just let it go."

* * *

It's not as if it's unusual for Stiles to have more than one orgasm while with Peter. Peter freakin' loves making him lose it, getting him off, and then repeating the process by doing something different... But that second or third orgasm is never _after_ he's already been fucked and knotted. 

Normally Peter will tease, work him up and take off the edge with one orgasm _before_ he fucks Stiles. That's how it's gone down in the past, and that's what Stiles is used to. He thoroughly enjoys that not-quite routine because nothing with Peter is ever the same. After getting fucked and coming, Stiles is usually too sensitive and exhausted and he'll just bask in the afterglow or whatever bullshit people call that post-fuck feeling.

Which he is _now,_ too, but there's something else that pushes Stiles to push himself, and as soon as he starts, Stiles knows that Peter's gonna let him do it and like it. Maybe even love it. Becauses Stiles loves it. Just like he loves what he does with Peter. And at this moment, despite how things started - Stiles being uncertain and worried about his Dad being downstairs and almost wishing Peter would stop - he's now so, so into this. 

There's no reservations, no worries about how he's acting, if he's too much of one thing or not enough of another. 

Stiles throws himself into chasing pleasure and bearing the overstimulation. He basks in Peter's touch and scent and that comforting growl Peter gives him fills Stiles with an encouraging heat. He can tell when Peter rolls his hips because the knot inside him edges against his prostate differently, forcing flashes of sensation through his insides and right to his dick. Stiles gasps, continuing to writhe on Peter's cock. 

Which Peter then complicates because one of Peter's hands comes to push down the panties and take out his dick. Stiles is still a little hard, his cock messy with sticky come, but Peter touches him anyway - albeit gently. Stiles' momentum halts as he shudders, bombarded by the dual pleasure of Peter coaxing his cock and the knot nestled inside of him. 

Peter's words are smooth and perfect and Stiles' lets himself moan - can't help it, really because Peter's hips are still grinding and that knot is insistently teasing him. Stiles cups Peter's face before his fingers stroke into hair, needing to touch and do something with his hands. 

Peter wants him to come for _him,_ and hearing that has Stiles clenching hungrily. 

"I'm gonna do it," Stiles whispers, and as he tries to not let the oversensitivity overtake him, he leans up to kiss Peter again. Now that he can, Stiles plans on taking advantage of it.

* * *

Perhaps this isn't their norm after Peter knots, but Peter can't say that he's at all unhappy about the way that this has turned out. Knowing that he'd fucked Stiles so well that he's _still_ hungry for it even while oversensitive is a thrill to both his pride and his instincts. Peter's no real slave to the latter, but even he can acknowledge the instinctual drive to satisfy Stiles in any way that he can. Which just so happens to be getting him off again.

Feeling Stiles' desperation is a heady rush of power as Peter grinds his hips in slow circles and scents Stiles' arousal all but triple. It's a thrilling thing, to watch as Stiles throws himself into something that he needs. To watch as Stiles clings to him and lets himself _feel_ because he knows that Peter will get him there. It's trust in its basest form, because they're locked together and Stiles doesn't have the energy to get himself off. Not the way that he needs.

The second that Peter actually touches his cock, Stiles goes still, as though the dual sensation is almost overwhelming. Drinking it in, Peter smirks proudly, but the expression softens when Stiles moans (enough so that Peter casts his attention to make sure the Sheriff hadn't heard) and then reaches up to cup his face. It's... not something that Stiles has done before, but it doesn't throw Peter off.

Instead, as Stiles' fingers slide into his hair and he clenches around Peter's knot, Peter only rocks his hips more blatantly. Shuddering, Stiles leans in and kisses him, and while it's still new between them, Peter doesn't hesitate to take over there either. He kisses back, nipping at Stiles' lips as he strokes his cock as firmly as he thinks Stiles can take it. Never once does he stop rolling his hips, pushing Stiles that much higher, just like he needs.

Yet not even Peter can help himself as he feels the next tug at his knot. Driven by nothing but pure indulgence, he moves his free hand down just enough to be able to reach where his knot has stretched Stiles' hole. The tip of his middle finger brushes the slick skin, tracing where his knot is locked, and Peter groans low in his throat, grinding his hips just to feel it. 

* * *

Maybe this is overwhelming and too intense, but Stiles knows that he can take it. He _is_ taking it, and he's not going to stop until he comes again. The panties are ruined, but somehow Stiles thinks that this isn't the last time he'll be in lingerie. Peter keeps surprising him - will probably _continue_ to surprise him - but that's what Stiles is realizing that he really likes. 

Peter just _gets him_ , even though Stiles doesn't really remember ever telling Peter that much - how could he, Stiles had been a virgin before Peter. It makes him wonder if Peter's been paying attention to him before they even did the deed. And just how well _does_ Peter know him? The weird thing is... it's not disconcerting. If anything, Stiles kinda wants to get to know Peter more. He wants to be able to surprise Peter too.

Stiles thinks this is a start, so he throws himself into focusing on chasing after his second orgasm. The kissing only heightens the pleasure, Peter's mouth making him breathless, teeth occasionally biting and offering him a counterpoint of a little pain. His sensitive sticky cock is worked by Peter, and each brush of Peter's knot against his prostate is a burst of pleasure that has Stiles wanting to crumple, but Peter has him.

Pinned against the wall, supported by Peter, Stiles forces himself to concentrate on moving complimentary to Peter. The kissing gets sloppy, Stiles pulling away every so often when he needs to breathe harder. 

It's when he realizes that Peter's fingers are brushing against where his knot is, Stiles loses it. He seizes up, hole trying to clench as Peter's knot forces him up come. Stiles' dick only can dribble as it pulses weakly. Head, slumping forward, Stiles tries his best to muffle his sounds.

* * *

Peter knows that it won't be long now. Stiles is desperate and squirming, the scent of his pleasure so thick that it's about the only thing that Peter can smell in the room. He knows that he'll have to leave a window open when he goes, because not even Stiles' father is so blind as to miss the scent of sex and sweat and come and _knotting_. 

Yet, the sheriff is the last thing on Peter's mind now. His fingers slide over Stiles' hole, the skin so slick and wet that it's almost impressive. Peter has fucked Omegas before, but he's never met an Omega that gets quite as wet as Stiles does, and it's a turn on. The sounds are that much more obscene, and the idea that Stiles is literally _dripping_ around his knot has a growl bubbling deep in Peter's chest. Feeling the way that Stiles' hole is spread so perfectly around his knot? Peter knows he'll be reliving the sensation in the weeks to come.

Stiles must suddenly realize just what Peter is doing, however. One moment he's still rocking and thrusting back, fucking himself back on Peter's knot like he's been doing it for years. The next, Stiles suddenly clenches _hard_ around Peter's knot - enough to make him grunt as he feels a sudden flare to his own pleasure - and then Stiles shudders viscerally against him as his cock drools come over Peter's stroking hand.

Peter obligingly slows his strokes down, making each one count as he milks what has to be the last of it out of Stiles' dick. Peter snaps his hips in _deep_ and stays there, nosing his way down the side of Stiles' throat, his teeth scraping along the side of his neck as Stiles tries to stay quiet.

"I knew you could do it," Peter says lowly, praise clear in his voice. "And I'm going to remember that you can. What sort of Alpha would I be if I left before you were _thoroughly_ satisfied?"

* * *

This orgasm is different. Not necessarily better or worse. Just different. Stiles' mind kinda feels frazzled or fizzled out, or maybe even paused. There's more relief than actual pleasure which is weird. Relief because he no longer has to exist in the realm of oversensitivity coupled with the push for more _._ Stiles has never done this type of thing before, at least not exactly like _this_. There's still pleasure and warmth washing over him, and Stiles is left helpless.

But he's not alone. Peter's with him, holding him up, supporting him, his knot deep inside, and now his fingers getting stickier with Stiles' meager offering of come. Exhausted, Stiles shudders as Peter's hand works him as if he's trying to coax out every last miserable drop out of Stiles' dick. Panting, he tries to hold back the sounds that want to slip out. 

Peter's quieter, low words slither through Stiles. It's praise - _Peter's_ praise specifically - and it wraps around Stiles, cocooning him in a perfect feel-good vibe. As fuck-happy as Stiles _is,_ he's pretty sure Peter's question is rhetorical. Peter obviously prides himself on his ability to thoroughly satisfy him and Stiles... 

"Well, I'm a happy customer," Stiles murmurs as he lifts his head up to gaze at Peter. Stiles offers a smirk as he adds on, "A returning customer too." 

Maybe different things happened tonight, but why not return to teasing and joking? That seems safer. Everything else can be thought about later, after, when Stiles isn't so enthralled with everything Peter.


	7. Expectant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're still writing this trash, huzzah! No immediate end in sight because we love these idiots, but we are dipping our toes into some development these next chapters going forward. - merry

* * *

* * *

Peter doesn't often change his mind once he's made it up, so the fact that Stiles had managed to change his plans does not go unnoticed. He hadn't planned for his little trip to Stiles' house to end the way that it had. Peter had gone there fully intending to work Stiles up and leave him hanging. He'd wanted to send a very clear message that he wouldn't tolerate Stiles pushing for things that Peter hadn't allowed, but it hadn't turned out that way in the end. Stiles had surprised him.

The night had ended with his dick buried knot-deep in Stiles' ass, with Stiles working himself up to not one, but _two_ powerful orgasms. Stiles had clutched Peter close and used his knot like a dildo once it had been locked tight, fucking himself on what he'd worked so hard to accomplish. Even days later, the memory is still enough to get Peter's dick interested, though that _could_ also be due to the fact that it has been _days_ since Peter had allowed himself to see Stiles.

Oh, he's been tempted. There isn't an evening that goes by where he isn't tempted to go to Stiles' house and fuck him senseless with his dad a mere floor away.

But Stiles had _kissed_ him. And what's more, Peter had kissed him _back_.

On the surface, it's nothing important. Honestly, Peter's mostly sure that it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, that Stiles' desperation had played a part. Even if not, Peter's not turned off by the idea. Yes, it had shaken up their rules, and _yes_ , he's still annoyed over that, but nothing with humans is ever clear-cut. Evolution is part of human nature. Change is both weird and normal. No, the _issue_ that Peter has is that he's not sure what to do, or where to go from there.

So, he waits. He ignores Stiles' texts, or simply answers them with a vague excuse of being 'busy', or having had a long day. Peter thinks, reflecting extensively on the changes that have been happening, _and_ on what they mean. He thinks about Stiles, about what they've done and about what he's promised, and when _that_ thought comes to mind, Peter pauses. An idea jumps to mind - more a curiosity than anything clear-cut - and he frowns to himself, mulling it over.

He _had_ promised Stiles practice, and Stiles _had_ held out quite well the other night. Plus, given the fact that it's been almost a week and Peter _had_ vowed to satisfy Stiles, he thinks the idea is long-overdue.

And if a part of him is expectantly curious over what Stiles might do or how he might look or react to the idea, well... they'll have to see.

Peter texts Stiles that night after a long shower. He glances at the clock - noting that it's almost nine - but Peter is confident that Stiles will respond.

_If you're interested, I am neither busy, nor have I had a long day. I do have a bed that could be put to good use, though. Your call._

* * *

Something's up. Something's gotta be up. Stiles knows it, because this is the longest time where nothing's happened between them and there's no good reason for it. If the supernatural world was acting up, fine, getting jiggy with it isn't the most important thing, but nothing outrageous has happened.

Peter's been dodging him, giving him lame-ass excuses like he's busy or tired - and as if. What's Peter got to be busy with? It's not as if Peter's got like, a gaggle of friends. Stiles doesn't even think Peter has a real job other than being a mouthy jerkwolf. He knows Peter does stuff with stocks, but that's from the comfort of his own home and with his laptop. He's no longer plotting - to Sitles' knowledge - so what's Peter got to be busy with? _Stiles_ is supposed to be what Peter's busy with.

What if Peter's found someone else? What if Peter's fucking some other Omega? What if Peter's upset about what happened in his bedroom, because Stiles knows that he'd been a little bratty with him challenging Peter to come over and then... the kissing. The kissing was new. And Peter had even _asked_ about it. It was like some mini _conversation_ about why Stiles wanted it or whatever.

Fuck.

At first Stiles had thought nothing of it, because the entire night had blown his mind. The panties, the fingering, the chance of getting caught, getting choked, Peter fucking him and even knotting him and Stiles getting off _twice_ , working for that second orgasm like his life depended on it... The next morning he'd gotten off to the memory, the ruined panties bunched up and in his other hand.

But now days have passed and Peter's been skirting him, so maybe Peter brought the kissing up because it wasn't really something Peter wanted to do. Maybe Peter just wants to fuck and _not_ do anything that might be construed as touchy-feely or _more._

When Peter texts him Stiles stares at it for a few good minutes before texting back that he'll come over once he's ready. His shower is quick and cursory and doesn't help ease his nerves much. Stiles doesn't bother sorting through clothes that fit him nicer, opting for ya know, clean things. He drives over, careful to not speed because he wants to, and when Peter opens the door, Stiles half-runs in before he can lose his nerve.

"Are you seeing someone else?" Stiles immediately blurts out, unable to _not_ immediately get his questions answered. He's almost bouncing on his feet. "Because I know for a fact that you are never this busy and your sex drive is fairly impressive for a man your age."

Before Peter can get a word in edgewise, Stiles is pacing. "Considering you have me available - a willing Omega in the prime of his sexhood - and you didn't take advantage of that, something's up. So, what the fuck is it?"

* * *

Peter isn't concerned with how long it takes Stiles to come over. He _had_ sprung the night on him, and it's very likely that Stiles had plans that he now has to cancel. Peter's not in any particular rush; he's fine to wait for Stiles to come over, even if he does think he reads something... off in Stiles' answering text. Maybe it's ridiculous to look too deeply into use of punctuation, but Stiles' reply is lacking the precision that he normally employs. So, either he's feeling nervous for some reason, or Peter caught him with his pants down. He's betting equally on both.

Stiles takes his time in coming over, and Peter busies himself with tidying up a little. Both the apartment _and_ himself. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower, and he makes a point to shave the stubble around his facial hair, just because there's never any reason to present anything less-than-perfect if he has the option. The same goes for his place, and so by the time that Peter hears Stiles' Jeep in the distance, he's already got a load of dishes in the dishwasher, and the floors swept.

From there, Stiles is quick to come upstairs. Peter does notice that his pulse sounds a little quick, but he doesn't think anything of it.

At least... not until he opens the door, Stiles darts in, and Stiles _immediately_ blurts out a stumbling ramble that has Peter's eyebrows climbing high on his forehead. Stiles accuses him of seeing someone else, which is interesting, but he follows it up with a small jab about Peter's age that has Peter's brow pinching in irritation.

Peter scoffs, and he manages to get out an annoyed, " _excuse_ you--" but Stiles is already talking over him, almost frantic with this narrative that he's built up in his own mind.

He _clearly_ thinks that Peter's radio silence had been suspicious. That Peter has apparently been sleeping around with other Omegas. While a part of Peter wants to ask why Stiles thinks he _wouldn't_ sleep with another willing Omega - as talks of exclusivity and anything pertaining to an actual relationship had never been in the cards - he doesn't. Both because Stiles has clearly worked himself up, and because the thought is... oddly disquieting.

Which is interesting and unsettling in equal measure. Peter frowns, closing his door and pointedly locking it. His earlier plans suddenly seem less likely, and he's already starting to question his decision to let Stiles stew while he'd thought things over. Well... he can't be expected to be on the ball _all_ the time.

"First off, I believe a reminder that I'm not _actually_ as old as you seem to think I am is important," Peter says irritably. "Second, while I'd actually love to claim otherwise after such a _delightful_ accusation, _no_ , Stiles. I'm not seeing someone else. You left me with a lot to think about last time."

* * *

Stiles is fully aware that he's rambling and coming across as like an emotional idiot stepping up on his soapbox to preach to the masses. But this time the masses are only one - Peter Hale -and Stiles isn't usually an emotional idiot. Emotions are... Well, they're fine. They're normal. Everybody has them - arguably Peter does too - but Stiles is legit bothered by Peter playing hard to get or whatever the hell he was doing.

This is supposed to be a sex thing. It's not exclusive - although Stiles has felt no need to try and find anyone else, not for sex or to strike up some potential relationship. In his defense, given his life and what he's been through, it's not that easy to go out and get laid or get a boyfriend or girlfriend. Peter's a more practical option...

Doing things with Peter is enough for Stiles, but is it enough for Peter? Of course Stiles knows that Peter's _allowed_ or to see or do whatever he wants. It's fine.

But Stiles isn't _acting_ like it's fine and he knows it. Instead of Peter flipping, Peter locks the door, but as Stiles' flow of words stops, it's time for Peter to respond. Stiles is in the hall, no longer pacing, but still vibrating with restless energy.

Peter would apparently _love_ to claim that he was seeing someone else? What the fuck?

"You couldn't see me because you were _thinking_?" Stiles retorts, clearly incredulous. And he's a little afraid of _what_ Peter was thinking about, but it's stupid that Peter apparently couldn't just figure it the fuck out.

The real problem is... Stiles wanted to see Peter. Maybe even missed him. And the idea of Peter finding someone else bothered him and still does.

* * *

This close, Peter can hear how upset Stiles is. It's threaded through his pulse like unease and fear have been knitted into it, like Stiles' pulse has never existed without the skip of fear. It sets Peter's instincts on edge, because while he's never really been one to subscribe to the notion of _never_ upsetting an Omega, his instincts aren't thrilled that he apparently has. It doesn't mean that he needs to listen to them, but it's hard to set something like that aside.

What makes it easier is the fact that Stiles is apparently _so_ very pissed. Anger Peter can do something with, but ambivalence or hurt? That's harder to dispute. So, despite the unease he feels over Stiles' clear distress, he focuses instead on Stiles' incredulity and accusation, enough so that Peter winds up crossing his arms over his chest when he turns to face him in the hallway.

" _Some_ people actually _are_ cerebral. So _yes_ , Stiles. I was thinking," Peter deadpans right back, his tone dry as a desert as Stiles stands there, clearly distressed and still working himself up.

It begs the question as to _why_ Stiles is so stressed, and _why_ he's working himself up so effortlessly. He'd assumed that Peter had been seeing someone else, which does point idly towards thoughts of exclusivity and jealousy.

Peter is fine with jealousy. Hell, it's a bit of a boost to his pride. But there's clearly more to this than what he sees on the surface. His scowl deepens.

"Why on _earth_ would you think I was seeing someone else? Actually, strike that. Why would it matter if I was?"

* * *

The problem is, Peter's answer sounds stupid to him. Stiles can't fathom Peter needing to think for over a week about you know, what happened. Some new stuff happened, sure, but it's not like a big ass deal. It wasn't monumental, it wasn't outlandish. It was… things. Like panties and teasing, and kissing and Peter even somehow making him feel safe... Safe enough for them to go further, safe enough that Stiles didn't mind the choking.

Peter is apparently sticking to his answer, claiming that being cerebral apparently takes time or something. Peter looks thoroughly unimpressed by this - maybe even by him - and Stiles really hates that his disapproval twists him up inside because it shouldn't.

The questions aren't necessarily surprising, but they still agitate Stiles.

Peter may try and strike the first question - why Stiles thought Peter was seeing someone else - but too bad, Stiles is going to answer. "Considering what our previous routine was, you deciding to change things seemed suspicious," Stiles says, crossing his arms, and trying to hold his ground.

"And obviously, you can do whatever you want, fuck whoever you want, because apparently you'd just _love_ if that was the case, Mr. Big Dick Alpha," Stiles retorts, a slight waver in his voice betraying him.

His eyes flit toward the door. He doesn't think he can stand to be here much longer, not when he's embarrassing himself like he is, but Stiles is on a roll and can't stop.

* * *

"Do you even _hear_ how ridiculous you sound?" Peter asks immediately, irritation clear in his voice, because this line of conversation seems childish at best. There's something in Stiles' eyes that speaks of genuine anger and discomfort, but Peter isn't sure what that is. All he knows is that Stiles isn't happy, he'd apparently worried himself into a _state_ , and he's all too happy to unleash his insecurities in Peter's direction.

He's honestly not sure where Stiles is coming from here. As far as he's concerned, he'd wanted to think on his own reaction to his change of plans. It takes a _lot_ to force Peter to change his plans; in decades of knowing his nephew, Derek has only managed it once or twice. And, considering that working Stiles up and leaving him would have been a reprimand that would have eventually improved the quality of _Peter's_ life, that he'd changed his mind means even more.

And yet Stiles had assumed he'd been fucking other people. The jump in logic is _astronomical_. As is his apparent pettiness.

"When you put words in someone's mouth, make sure they can hold up to scrutiny," Peter snaps back. "I _said_ that I would have loved to be able to _say_ that I had been sleeping around after your lovely little accusation. Not that I loved the idea of sleeping around. When nine-point-five out of ten people aren't worth the space their brain resides in - much less in a small town - the pickings become rather slim. Now, what is this _actually_ about?"

And, as though to punctuate how unimpressed Peter is, he takes a pointed step in front of his door, arms still crossed as he stares Stiles down. Stiles won't be leaving any time soon.

* * *

Stiles wants to believe that he's at least _a little_ justified in being upset, but it's not as if he's in the best position to be level-headed about this. He wants to be. Usually Stiles prides himself in being able to take a step back and try to be logical. Stiles is a planner - he likes looking at problems from various angles and coming up with ideas and plans of attack. It makes his brain feel good.

But right now Stiles is twisted and caught up in emotion and embarrassment because of the emotion. As each back and forth pass happens, it's clear that _he's_ the one with the problem and not Peter. Peter apparently wanted time and space "to think" and Stiles is the one being demanding or whatever, and it pisses him right off.

Peter's irritability is so obvious in his tone and Stiles clenches his jaw when Peter uses the word _ridiculous._ Stiles' eyebrows pull in, but his disgruntled look crumbles when Peter snaps at him.

Stiles actually tenses, startled by the bite in Peter's voice _and_ his words. The worst part isn't Peter's last question trying to nail down what this is "acutally about," it's Peter knowingly taking a step in front of the door, blocking his exit.

"I just..." Stiles starts, shifting on his feet awkwardly as he tries to sort out _some_ answer to give Peter. "I was worried, okay? It was stupid of me to even care. I won't make that mistake again."

* * *

This is _not_ what Peter had expected while inviting Stiles over that evening. Normally he wouldn't mind someone getting upset with him; hell, there are days he views it as a badge of honor. Yet, typically he's _aware_ of upsetting someone. He hadn't been aware that he'd upset Stiles, and being thrown into this little altercation is not what Peter might call _fun_.

He feels decidedly disgruntled as he stands there, his arms crossed over his chest. Still, he doesn't miss the way that Stiles tenses at the tone of his voice. Hell, he almost _flinches_ , which is... odd. Well, it's odd unless Stiles is once again subscribing to the idea that Peter might legitimately _hurt_ him, which honestly rankles. Peter isn't exactly a paragon of virtue, but he hasn't hurt Stiles. He hasn't hurt _anyone_ recently.

Which is why this is so irritating. Peter is fine weathering the storm if he's done something to deserve it. Aside from taking time to think and work Stiles up, he hasn't done anything this time.

"Oh, no. 'Vague' isn't very becoming on you, Stiles. So," Peter says flatly, then nods pointedly to the sofa in the living room, his jaw tight.

"You're going to go sit down, I'm going to join you, and we're going to get to the bottom of this. I took time to think, and admittedly to try and work you up, but not like this. So. Sit."

* * *

Stiles doesn't think that Peter's going to hurt him, not when their having crazy hot sex or even just in general. As much as he doesn't want to be acting like this, Still believes it's got something to do with him being an Omega and like, having some sort of _thing_ with Peter. A relationship? Not exactly. But Stiles knows that he's more sensitive to Peter's praise _or_ discontentment compared to other Alphas, strangers or friends.

This sucks, and Stiles wants to leave and gather his thoughts to come back with a plan of attack. But he can't move Peter from blocking the door. Would Peter move if Stiles tried to use his safeword?

Before Stiles can think further on that tactic, Peter continues to be stubborn. For someone who isn't touchy-feely, Peter sure is pushing all of this communication. Stiles looks at the comfy sofa that Peter's indicated, and he doesn't want to go over there and sit and talk.

But Peter adds on one key thing: _he apparently wanted to work Stiles up by waiting_. That... That makes more Peter-sense to him.

It also helps ease some of Stiles' nerves, his shoulders slumping a little. "Fine," Stiles says as he turns, but before he marches into the living room, he does slip off his sneakers - he's not an animal.

Plopping down on the couch, Stiles huffs out a sigh. It's now or never.

"If I had known that you taking time or whatever was some sex tactic, it would have been different," Stiles offers as Peter sits beside him. "I know you're a fan of anticipation, but I don't like it done that way. I don't like wondering if I did something and that's why you're all of a sudden busy and unavailable."

* * *

Peter isn't happy, but he also isn't a monster. Some in the pack would argue that statement, but he doesn't exactly strive for acceptance from the others. His reputation might keep others at a distance that he enjoys, but it also means that the distrust in the pack runs rampant when he's involved. The only ones he feels like he'd attempt to make an effort for are Malia, Derek, and - for some reason - Stiles.

Which is why, instead of demanding that Stiles leave and cool off, Peter chooses to try and get to the bottom of this instead. He wouldn't do this for Scott or Lydia. Hell, he'd debate over doing it for _Derek_ , but Stiles does tend to listen despite his occasional bouts of stupidity. It's the only reason that Peter demands what he does.

That, but also because he can tell that his anger _is_ affecting Stiles. It's likely instinctual, much as Peter hates to make that jump. Which means that were Peter to send Stiles away now, it could throw him into a spiral. So he buckles down, and to his relief, Stiles not only complies, but something like understanding and relief flicker behind his eyes. Peter frowns.

He doesn't know what he'd said that had apparently eased Stiles' concerns, but he'll get to the bottom of it. He follows Stiles to the sofa, and when he takes a seat, Peter turns enough to look at Stiles pointedly.

And then Stiles answers him, explaining himself - awkwardly muttering about feeling as though he'd done something wrong - and Peter's irritation hits a wall. He stills, his frown deepening, though in thought this time. He regards Stiles in silence, genuinely reflecting on how his silence had likely seemed, and he hates to admit that Stiles does have a point.

Peter's not so prideful that he can't admit to a mistake. He tips his head to the side in acknowledgement, a small grimace touching his lips.

"I suppose I can see your point," he admits. "Perhaps a little more transparency _would_ have been better. I can take responsibility for that. Though, I _did_ have a lot on my mind, and as much as I enjoy your personality, running in here with guns blazing is _not_ endearing. If you were worried, why didn't you say something?"

* * *

If he was worried, why didn't he say something? _Really_? Really!? Nothing is that simple, no matter what Peter might think or how he phrases it.

"Because that's not what we do!" Stiles answers, exasperation creeping back in his voice as he fidgets a leg underneath him. "If you look at our texts, it's all sexual innuendo, jokes, snarky commentary, or invitations _for_ sex," Stiles explains with his hands gesticulating wildly. He's almost tempted to pull out his phone to drive home his point, but he doesn't need to be dramatic like Peter often is.

Between them it's never been thoughtful texts or messages involved with feelings, other than ' _hey I wanna **feel** your dick' _or, ' _I'm **feeling** horny, let's fix it.' _

Just asking and being direct may make sense, but Stiles has always been aware of what they are - acquaintances who fuck - or in more common terms, fuck buddies or friends with benefits. The problem with the latter is that they've never really been friends. At one point Peter was even the enemy. Of course he's not anymore. Peter's in the pack, maybe on the outskirts, but he's there, existing.

And Stiles has been messing around with Peter for a while now, the ante always being upped, Stiles' mind always being blown, but there's been no invitations for Stiles to stay over, no indication that that would even be allowed. Stiles doesn't want to overstay his welcome or overstep.

* * *

Peter's no idiot. There is clearly much more going on here than Stiles is saying. The issue is that he's not sure _what_ the problem is. Or how to fix it. He hadn't been expecting such a fallout when he'd texted Stiles earlier that evening, and as much as Peter hates to admit it, he does prefer to be prepared for conversations like this. That he _isn't_ is slightly jarring, as it only goes to show that he's missed something.

He doesn't often miss _anything_. Just like he doesn't often change his mind once he's made it up. Thus far, Stiles has been the catalyst for both states of being and Peter isn't thrilled about it. The status quo feels slightly more tenuous than before.

So, when Stiles answers, incredulous and sounding exasperated, Peter arches an eyebrow. He still feels slightly lost, but Stiles _clearly_ has a lot on his mind, and Peter isn't going to get to the bottom of it if he doesn't listen and try to figure it out. Yes, he knows that Stiles had been jealous - he wouldn't have accused Peter of seeing other people otherwise - but jealousy doesn't _mean_ anything. Not by itself.

But jealousy connected with Stiles saying that all they do is text about sex? Particularly with the slight edge to his voice that he has? The one that indicates that Stiles is _upset_ over it? _That_ gives Peter a clue.

"Stiles. If it was causing you _real_ distress, you should have said something," Peter says, trying to monitor his tone to be less accusatory. "Yes, we don't really talk about anything other than sex, because that's what we _do_ when we're together, and yes, I do like pushing you. Sometimes to distress. But there's nothing appealing about seeing you genuinely upset. I can be a bit of a sadist sometimes, but I'm not a _monster_."

* * *

Even though Stiles is exasperated - because this could have been avoided if Peter hadn't tried to avoid _him_ first - he's not oblivious to the fact that Peter is sitting beside him and trying to work things out. That's... Truthfully, it's somewhat shocking to Stiles. But it's a good sign, he thinks. Unless Peter is simply looking for more ammunition to use against him or for Stiles to shoot himself in the foot.

But Stiles doesn't actually believe that's Peter's MO here. It'd be far easier to just ridicule and remove him.

So that means, what? Peter cares - at least not about ruining this whole arrangement they got goin' on, because what they have _is_ a really great thing and Stiles knows it. Despite whatever's happening right now, Stiles doesn't want their thing to stop either.

 _Real distress_ is what Peter calls it, and Sillies seriously considers that description as over the top. Distress is for damsels and princesses. Not him. And maybe it was practical for him to have said something, but it's not that simple, not even when Peter reassures Stiles that he doesn't want to see him 'genuinely upset.'

"I know you're not some monster," Stiles replies, not doubting his words at all. He huffs out a disgruntled sigh before powering on. "But that doesn't mean that I want you to know that I like, _missed this_ and was worried that I did something." Missing Peter goes unsaid.

Stiles is ready to defend whatever feelings he may have because Peter was the first Alpha he'd been with, Heat included. Maybe this is just some lingering biological desire. Whatever it is, a one-sided anything would be mortifying. And that's why Stiles doesn't want to talk about it.

* * *

The issue with this entire conversation is that Peter can read between the lines. Yes, he'd delighted in the idea of working Stiles up, and in pushing him further and further, but Peter had never intended _this_. Pushing and challenging are only ever a benefit if _both_ parties wind up satisfied, and Stiles clearly isn't. That could change after this, granted, but even if it doesn't, Peter locks this away as a clear limit for Stiles. Long stretches with no contact aren't his preference.

Yet, given how Stiles is practically radiating discomfort, and given how he looks supremely uncomfortable and like he'd rather be anywhere else, Peter knows there's more to this than what he sees. It only gets more apparent when Stiles puts the stress on _missing this_ , and Peter reads between the lines.

Stiles had missed _him_. Or, at the very least, he'd missed Peter's body. His knot. His ability to get Stiles off, but Peter doubts Stiles would be that upset were it simply a sexual thing.

Which... does complicate matters. Peter watches Stiles for a few seconds, taking in his posture - how defensive he looks, like he's ready to lash out and defend himself to the death if Peter says anything he doesn't want to hear. Peter considers everything. He lets himself think about the last few times that he and Stiles have been together, and he considers - just for a moment - what it would be like to find someone else to scratch the itch.

"You were jealous when you thought I might have been with someone else," Peter observes idly. "I'd be willing to bet that that's where a lot of this is stemming from. If I were to promise you exclusivity, would that calm your fears?"

* * *

It's too late to take anything back. Stiles has come clean - confessed his worries, shown how emotional he can be. It's lame and he doesn't like it one bit, but Peter was determined to push him for what was wrong. Which is still a little strange coming from Peter. Peter may not be a monster, but he's not exactly known for being in touch with feelings.

Not that lying would have done any good for Stiles. Now that he's just out and said everything, he's got nothing left to hide. Sure, Peter gets to know that he'd been worried that he'd missed Peter, and that sucks. It sucks because Stiles is pretty sure he's already in over his head, that he's existing in the realm of the one-sided too. And it sucks. All of it.

As much as Stiles wants to go bolt for the front door, he stays put. He doesn't even try and hide his face. Stiles _wants_ it to just be a sexual thing, to be a biological Omega-Alpha thing, and that's what he's going to argue if Peter gives him shit over it... but he knows that he wouldn't have gotten this upset if it was something so simple. Nothing's ever simple with Peter, so why would this be any different?

Instead of teasing or mocking him, Peter offers him the promise of _exclusivity_ in hopes of calming his fears. Stiles' eyes widen as he looks at Peter, shocked by this turn of events.

" _What_?" Stiles asks. " _Why_ would you want that?"

* * *

Peter wouldn't offer exclusivity to just anyone. In fact, barring a few cajoling reassurances when he'd been in high school, he _hasn't_ offered it to anyone until now. Exclusivity implies commitment, even in its vaguest forms, but Peter knows he'd made the right choice as soon as he's offered it.

Stiles' pulse speaks for itself. Yes, it skips with surprise, and the way that Stiles looks at him is all shock and mild confusion, but Peter can still hear the way that Stiles' pulse speeds up. He can scent the mixture of relief - bordering on something hopeful - but just the same, there's an edge to it. Something possibly suspicious, which only endears Stiles to him more. The boy isn't an idiot; he's cautious, as he should be.

When it comes down to it, this is simple math, though. Stiles' question hardly needs to be asked, as Peter's answer is immediate and logical. He shrugs his shoulder again and looks at Stiles, meeting his eyes blatantly.

"Because it makes sense." Peter raises an eyebrow. "I haven't had sex with anyone else since this started, and I haven't felt a need to. You satisfy me, and I satisfy _you_. You're attractive, you're enthusiastic, and you're _smart_. Much smarter than anyone else in the pack, Lydia notwithstanding. Arguably smarter than most people in Beacon Hills, and I respect intelligence. You _can_ let your emotions rule you," Peter adds, half-chiding, half-observing, but he doesn't sound concerned, "but arguably that only makes you stronger. So. I don't see a downside. Do you?"

* * *

There's no way that Peter would offer something like exclusivity without some ulterior motive... right? Stiles hasn't been seeing anyone else - he hasn't felt the need to, not for sex and not for other stuff like dating or whatever. 'Anyone else' would be complicated in a different way and Stiles is at least used to Peter.

Maybe, ya know, it'd be nice to do _other_ stuff with Peter, but the sex is really fucking awesome so why _wouldn't_ they do it? Getting a lil somethin-somethin' regularly has done wonders for Stiles' mood and whatnot. He honestly has no idea what they'd even _do_ if it wasn't sex, leading up to sex, or dealing with each other _after_ sex of some kind, but... the idea of being around Peter in some non-sexual capacity doesn't exactly bother Stiles.

What does bother him is if Peter's not on the same page, and that's kind of what Stiles is expecting. But Peter just shrugs as if this isn't some huge deal (and maybe it isn't?).

The answer Peter gives is so succinct and even _nice,_ that Stiles just stares back at him, half-stunned. The fact that Peter just lists off that he's attractive and smart and enthusiastic? It doesn't matter that a caveat is attached about him _sometimes_ letting his emotions rule him, Stiles just blinks, his face doing something as he swallows.

"No, I don't see a downside," Stiles finally answers. "So... an exclusive _sex thing?_ " He goes on, trying to clarify what exactly Peter's okay with.

* * *

If only for the look on Stiles' face, Peter is glad he'd said something. This is admittedly taking a risk. Stiles' emotions are clearly still slightly high and buzzing under his skin, but Peter has managed to diffuse the situation. It's still charged and he can still scent Stiles' lingering distress, but it feels as though Stiles has been slightly appeased.

He looks stunned, a little taken aback, and - if Peter were to be so bold as to assume - slightly humbled. Stiles looks like he can't believe that Peter had said what he had, but Peter merely looks back at him levelly. He hadn't lied, and he doesn't plan on starting. Given how volatile Stiles had been mere minutes ago, lying won't get him anything except heavier, deeper suspicion.

It's Stiles' slightly-probing question that finally draws a small, wry smile to Peter's lips. Oh, he's fairly certain that he can see where _that_ train of thought is going, but that's not a conversation that he wants to have _now_. Not when Stiles' emotions still sting, even under the balm of Peter's acceptance.

"We'll see where it goes," Peter replies tactfully, because it seems safer. "But if you decide that you'd rather go searching for someone else down the road, I won't hold it against you. Now," Peter adds, quirking an eyebrow and looking Stiles over.

"I take it you accept? Or do you need some time to think it over?"

* * *

An exclusive sex thing is A-OK. It's technically what they're doing already, but now they've got a label for it. And now Stiles knows that Peter isn't going around and gettin' some sweet Omega booty - or any booty for that matter - and... Stiles likes that. Wondering if he'd messed up and if Peter was done with him or had replaced him really sucked.

 _Jealous._ Stiles had been worried and jealous and maybe that means something. Emotions usually signal importance of _some_ _kind._ Even so, Stiles doesn't want to necessarily go poking into this with any expectation, especially if Peter is strictly going to be all, _blah blah this is just about us banging._

So all Stiles can do is ask Peter - granted, he knows he's asking in a vague sort of way. Five minutes ago Stiles would have been freaking out about bringing this up, but Peter's actually been trying to figure things out and fix stuff, so Stiles' isn't as fidgety about it, thankfully.

Peter's answer, of course, is just as vague, but it leaves the _possibility_ open and that's more than Stiles had in the past. While he wants to think about it, to try and figure out what's going on or what _could_ be going on with Peter and him, Stiles doesn't even know where to start. But that doesn't matter because Peter decides to check-in and make sure that this is what Stiles wants.

"Yeah, I accept," Stiles answers because he doesn't need to think it over. He was obviously upset at the idea of Peter getting busy with someone else, so this is a fix. And apparently Peter's fine if Stiles wants to go "searching" for someone else in the future, indicating that... that, what? That Peter's not serious about him or possessive and that should be good--

Instead of thinking and worrying, Stiles decides to take action, stripping off his shirt. Best to get the show on the road. "Okay, yeah, so that's cleared up."

* * *

Peter can practically _hear_ Stiles' thoughts racing in his skull as he considers Peter's offer. It's nothing earth-shattering, but right now, Peter thinks that 'earth shattering' would actually shatter Stiles. He'd been jealous. He'd been worried. He'd been possessive in a way that Peter _should_ find unbecoming, but doesn't.

Peter has always been drawn to Stiles' darker side. He's a complex young man, but knowing that Stiles had felt those emotions and acted on them? As irritated as Peter had been - and in a sense, still is - he can respect that kind of bluntness and bravery. He admires Stiles' lack of tact. He admires his selfishness on the odd occasions when he displays it so proudly.

Stiles still accepts, taking the olive branch without saying anything even though Peter can tell that he _wants_ to. Satisfied, Peter nods to himself, and he's about to go on, to say more, when Stiles reaches down and just up and tugs his shirt up and off, over his head. Peter's eyebrows climb up higher on his forehead.

He's interested. It _has_ been a week, and Peter very much still finds Stiles attractive.

Except...

"Mm. No," Peter says easily and then stands up. "Not just yet. You still _reek_ of distress. Wait there."

Peter meanders into his kitchen almost lazily, though he is focused. He retrieves a bottle of Coke from the fridge - on-brand, not the cheap shit in Stiles' fridge - and when he walks back out into the living room and takes a seat, he holds the bottle out to Stiles pointedly.

"Here. Drink. I know it's in your nature to hop from one extreme to the next, but slow down for now. Humor me."

* * *

Issue dealt with, it's now time for the good stuff to commence. Stiles may not be rock hard and leaking, but it's been a week and Peter's _right there_ and he's definitely interested. Besides, it just makes sense that they get to it. Stiles is pretty sure that make-up sex is a thing anyway, and maybe they're not a couple, but they're _exclusive_ and they've had a fight, so he's pretty sure they can have their own brand of make-up sexy times.

Stiles is ready to push all the jumbling mess of jealousy and relief and questions and what if's away. He'll think about it later, when he's able to go through everything and come up with some angle to take that sums all the shit up, more or less. Now isn't the moment to go unpack these things - accusations, questions, misunderstandings. Even though Stiles thinks he was justified in being upset about things, he's also slightly embarrassed that he'd made a scene about it - which is why Stiles is more than happy for this awkwardness to be left behind.

But that's not what happens. Now shirtless, Peter doesn't start anything. Stiles isn't manhandled down onto his knees or over Peter's lap. Peter's hands don't reach out to grab at his jeans and yank them down, and Peter doesn't start talking in that low sultry tone that gets Stiles antsy. Instead of this, Peter tells him no - not yet - and then gets him a damn soda.

Sitting on Peter's couch without his shirt on is awkward in a different way, but Stiles doesn't re-dress himself. Just because Peter says he smells stressed, doesn't mean he _is._ Mildly miffed at being told no, Stiles still takes a drink of the soda. And then another just to prove that he can listen.

"What am I humoring you with?" Stiles grumbles as he slumps back on the sofa, the bottle of Coke in hand and resting on his thigh. "I'm _fine._ I'm not some fragile Omega."

* * *

Stiles looks ridiculously petulant when Peter finally comes back with the soda but he doesn't care. He doesn't often turn down immediate sex; Peter is no saint. But he doesn't want Stiles to smell like he does if they do wind up doing anything. So, despite Stiles' visible irritation, Peter only settles back against the couch and watches him pointedly until Stiles relents and takes a drink.

Then he takes another one, but Peter's relatively sure that it's an attempt to be passive aggressive. Not that he minds; what matters is that Stiles has listened to him.

Something vaguely content settles in Peter's instincts and he nods to himself, satisfied that Stiles isn't pushing back on this front. Oh, he looks enticing. Peter isn't exactly adverse to doing anything, but Stiles still smells vaguely like distress and it isn't something that Peter likes.

The assumption that Peter is only doing this because he thinks that Stiles is _fragile_ is enough to make Peter snort somewhat derisively, but he still sends Stiles a sidelong, almost-amused look.

" _You_ are about the furthest thing from a fragile Omega that has ever existed," he says easily, because it's true. "Don't mistake compassion for belittlement. I'll still fuck you, if that's what you want. It wasn't my initial plan," he adds offhandedly, "but plans change. Drink. _Relax_."

Peter reaches over then, sliding one of his arms behind Stiles' bare back. He settles his hand on Stiles' opposite hip, a warm, more-forward reminder that sex is still on the table.

* * *

Stiles can admit that the drink is nice and it's helping. The bottle's cold in his hand, but the chill is actually calming. Having a soda is something small, but normal, and maybe that's what Stiles needs and Peter knew that. Stiles doesn't want to say that, however. Peter's already a huge know-it-all.

Given that his hand is busy holding the drink, he can't slip his t-shirt back on. Even if he could, Stiles doesn't think that he'd want to. He's still hoping to get a little somethin' somethin' from Peter. Maybe he _does_ smell stressed or whatever, but he's pretty sure that sex stuff can do wonders.

His disparaging comment about Omegan fragility makes Peter snort which actually settles Stiles. He likes amusing Peter, so sue him. Linking _compassion_ to Peter is weird, but it's what Peter goes onto say that grabs at Stiles' attention.

Peter will still fuck him, but that's not what he had _planned_. And now Stiles has gotta know what those plans were, okay. Peter may tell him to relax, but Stiles is sitting up straighter, invigorated by this news.

Before he can inquire, Peter's arm slips around him and... well, this is new. Touching and sitting next to each other, but it's a start. Stiles leans into Peter, his instincts much happier to feel Peter's heat.

"What was your initial plan, huh?" Stiles asks enthusiastically. "Have we done it before? Was it new? Can we still do it?"

* * *

The extra contact _is_ new, but Peter doesn't think it's anything that he wouldn't have done before. While he doesn't often have pack moments, Peter is still distantly connected to the pack. He hasn't gone omega yet which means that there's enough of a pack bond there to keep him from going feral. He's reasonably sure that it's only Derek's lingering obligation, Malia's uncertainty, and Stiles' stubbornness that keep him _in_ the pack, but Peter's not going to split hairs.

He does have that pack bond, and his connection with Stiles is understandably stronger than it is with most others in the pack. So, having Stiles calm down is a priority for Peter. That, plus he's certainly not hard on the eyes right now. Not that he ever really is. The contact seems to help Stiles settle back down, though Peter's not surprised that Stiles' interest seems piqued after what he'd said.

Peter still considers not saying anything, because sometimes showing his hand isn't the best way to get what he wants. But the thought of teasing Stiles with what could have been? That does appeal.

"I _had_ invited you over here so that you could fuck me," Peter says lightly, like it's _not_ a bit of a taboo when it comes to Alphas. "I had plans to work you up so that you could go more than once, but given the... charged nature of the initial conversation, I doubt it's still a good idea. Maybe a rain check."

* * *

Stiles can't help but get excited about discovering what Peter's plans were. Peter's plans - at least his sex plans - have never let Stiles down and he doesn't think that's about to change anytime soon. So, of course, he jumps on it and asks his questions. He's no longer musing on the almost-cuddling they're doing and he's leaving behind the weirdness of their "fight" if it could be called that. Stiles thinks that 'misunderstanding' probably fits better, but that has a different uncool connotation to it.

As much as Stiles may want to forget everything that happened and what it might mean, he knows that he'll have to adult up over it and think about things. He's got a lot of questions swirling in his head but Stiles does better organizing and visualizing things - easier to see patterns and connections, so he assumes that he's gonna have to write shit down or make his own evidence board and just hide it from like, everyone.

Peter is so fucking direct with his answer that Stiles is stunned - it's not the directness that does it, but what that answer happens to be. The fucking thing - Stiles fucking Peter. Peter hadn't forgotten. A part of Stiles had expected that Peter would just string him along because why wouldn't he? But apparently nope. His dick is hard at just knowing that Peter was _going to let him._

"We can still do it, I can totally do it!" Stiles rambles out and he's leaning down to carefully put the bottle of Coke on the floor but against the couch and far enough away from his feet that he won't risk knocking it. This is something he's gotta move around to deal with.

Stiles shifts to get up on his knees and stare at Peter, pleading. "I wanna do it--" Before Peter can try and dissuade him, Stiles decides to switch tactics. He can be flexible. "If we can't do it tonight, you gotta give me a raincheck - like a legit one - write it out so I have your word."

* * *

Peter is expecting shock or interest in Stiles' answer. He's expecting Stiles to either be surprised that Peter had even been thinking about giving him what he'd suggested he would so long ago, disappointed that he'd blown his chance, or pushy for more information or acknowledgement. With Stiles, it's not always easy to predict him like it is with Scott or Derek. Stiles is much more easily swayed and complex, and so when Peter feels Stiles go rigid next to him, he's curious what that will amount to.

As it turns out, it amounts to Stiles practically going spastic with the need to backpeddal. Peter's relieved to note that he sets the bottle of Coke far enough away that it can't be kicked over, because if Stiles had kicked it over onto Peter's rug, he _would_ have made Stiles clean it up with his tongue. As it stands, Peter grunts a bit as Stiles scrambles up onto his knees, looking up at Peter with wide, pleading eyes.

Which... honestly does more for Stiles' case than not. He's always had a particularly convincing pleading face and Peter takes a second to admire it as Stiles rambles his insistence. Before Peter can deny him, though, Stiles switches tactics, _demanding_ a rain check.

In writing.

Peter lets out a small laugh despite himself, eyebrows pinched in incredulity at Stiles' demands.

"Oh, you want it in _writing_ , do you?" Peter asks drolly, torn between offense and intrigue. The latter wins out, and Peter considers Stiles for a second before he takes his arm out from behind Stiles' back and then leans over to his coffee table.

He opens a drawer on it and rummages around until he finds an index card - something he'll commonly use to jot down notes for himself, often groceries - and pulls it out with a pen. Peter glances at Stiles and then takes a few seconds to write. When he hands Stiles the index card, it's with a small smirk.

"Here," Peter says easily.

On the card, the text - in neat cursive - states:

_I, Peter Hale, give my word that I will let Stiles Stilinski fuck me with his pretty little cock, sometime in the nearby future._

It's complete with a date and with his signature. Go big or go home.

* * *

Peter was going to let Stiles, an Omega, fuck him - an Alpha. They'd talked about it the first time when Stiles was supposed to 'practice' lasting while fucking into Peter's fist, and it has been brought up a few times since then, but not in any serious capacity. Yes, Stiles is a little miffed that he's being denied that _tonight,_ but he can admit that, despite his insistence that he _can_ do it, another time would probably be better.

Which sucks to admit, but it's obvious in the way that he changes his tune. Trying to push Peter... sometimes it can be fun and work in Stiles' favor, but he doesn't think that's going to be the case. Not tonight. Because it _has_ been quite the night - Peter ain't wrong. While Stiles' dick will get hard and work, Stiles knows he's still a little frazzled and off-kilter.

He doesn't want to be. He's doing better, but _better_ doesn't necessarily mean the best time for doing something new, unfortunately.

So it makes complete sense to get Peter to give him a literal rain check that he can use as evidence - as proof of this manifesting at a later date for them.

Stiles doesn't back down from his request, staring at Peter expectantly and Peter... Peter actually indulges him. Stiles watches as Peter gets to it, and try as he might, he's unable to make out what Peter's writing. When he's handed the index card, Stiles eagerly reads it.

Then purses his lips as his cheeks heat at _specific_ details regarding his dick. Okay then. That's how it's going to be. Still - Peter _did_ write it out for him and having the tangible proof in his hand, personalized by Peter? He... he likes it. Stiles exhales loudly, contentedly.

"You have girly writing," he then retorts, leaning forward to put his fuck-check down on the table.

* * *

Peter isn't exactly calculating about what he writes down, but there _is_ method to his madness. Not that he believes that Stiles would ever rush out and use the index card as _proof_ that he was - literally - fucking Peter, but a little insurance is never a bad thing. Having the words 'pretty little cock' in writing will serve two purposes. First, it will dissuade Stiles from showing the card to anyone else lest he open himself up for teasing. Second, and _most_ important, he _likes_ that phrase.

Watching the way that Stiles' cheeks heat once he reads the words makes Peter smirk to himself. He leans back confidently in his seat, reclining lazily as Stiles clutches the card as though his life depends on it. He likely doesn't even realize that he's doing it.

Peter's pleased with himself as Stiles struggles to get a grip on himself, but it doesn't take Stiles long to recover. Peter catches a glint of something sly in Stiles' eyes before he offers his little comment. That Peter has _girly_ handwriting.

Peter's smirk fades immediately and he scowls at Stiles, looking affronted as Stiles leans over and puts his note down on the table.

"I have _practiced_ writing. Nothing like your chicken-scratch. There's no excuse for poor penmanship," Peter says, leveling an unimpressed look at Stiles. "I have half a mind to put you over my knee and spank that ass of yours raw, but you'd like that too much."

* * *

Stiles doesn't care to censor himself, not when he knows that Peter greatly likes that he has some sass and attitude. He may be an Omega, but Stiles doesn't let himself fit into that stereotype of a behaving little docile sweetheart. Never has, never will, and Peter can either take it or leave it.

And apparently Peter is okay with it - not that Stiles' mouth doesn't sometimes get him in trouble, but it's not the bad kind of trouble, and he doubts that calling out Peter's writing is going to change that.

Besides, it _is_ girly, at least from what Stiles has seen from those around him. Peter's writing resembles Melissa's or Lydia's more so than his Dad's or Scott's or even his own. There's nothing wrong with girly handwriting, and it's not as if Peter's dotting his i's with hearts or anything, but why not tease him? Considering Stiles is usually the one in the receiving end, he doesn't feel bad at all for doing it.

Peter's expression is priceless as is his response because Peter goes off about defending his _penmanship._ That alone was enough, but the threat of spanking on top of that? Stiles just grins cheekily.

"Oh no, not that!" he fake cries out.

It feels _right_ to be back at a place where they can tease each other.


	8. Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update, update, update!

* * *

* * *

_Exclusive_. That's what they are. The word floats around in Stiles' head. Despite their dumb misunderstanding - totally Peter's fault - it was good for them to have the subsequent talk that resulted from Stiles being _understandably_ upset. Even days after, it's still amusing to think that they had a legit conversation to clear shit up. Peter really surprised him, but the surprise is the pleasant-good kind and not the, _oh hell no_ kind.

Stiles doesn't, in fact, make an evidence board. He doesn't overthink anything between them and he doesn't think about the prospect of _more_ either. Considering that his overthinking got him into trouble last time, he concludes that it's completely reasonable that he takes a break from delving too deep into, well, _anything_ Peter-related.

It's far too easy to just fall back into things with Peter, and that's what Stiles does. Peter doesn't play hard to get and things go back to normal, but maybe even... slightly better? Because now Stiles doesn't need to worry about Peter because Peter is _his._ They're _exclusive._ And now they kiss too and Peter's proven himself _very_ skilled at that particular activity as well. Considering they've done a bunch of things, anything new is always exciting and it's no different with the kissing bit.

* * *

Despite Stiles' little hiccup, things go back to normal, more or less. Except, now that Stiles knows that they're exclusive, there's an extra spring in his step whenever Peter invites him over to fuck. It's subtle, more a sassiness than anything else, but Stiles owns his newfound confidence in a way that Peter can appreciate. The sex is good, Stiles doesn't lose his snark or his personality, and being able to watch Stiles dripping and clutching and desperate as Peter fucks and knots him is a thrilling feeling.

The panties make a recurrence around a week later, but it's at Peter's home this time. He does let Stiles model for him, and then he rewards Stiles by eating him out until Stiles is begging for his knot. All in all, it's good.

Unfortunately, life does not always favor Peter's schedule, and that becomes apparent a few days later when Stiles and Derek both tell him - separately, but on the same day - that there's _something_ in town again. Stiles tells him in order to warn him, and Derek tells him in order to try and get some information. Peter braces himself, and - sure enough - it isn't a day later that Scott uncomfortably reaches out to him in order to make _sure_ that he comes to the next pack meeting.

It's a clusterfuck. Scott might be a decent Alpha in terms of support and reassurance, but he's a horrible Alpha when it comes to people dying in town. His impulse has always been to try and save his claws and fangs for a last resort, and as the pack struggles to make sense of what's happening around them and people die as a result, Peter can't help but picture what a _competent_ Alpha might look like.

In the end, it's Stiles who figures out what's attacking people. Peter's only surprised because _he_ doesn't realize it first. It's a manticore - grotesque, severely venomous, and undoubtedly attracted instinctually to the Nemeton. It's not necessarily capable of cognition the way that most of their encounters are, but it still poses a risk nevertheless.

Confronting it is _ridiculously_ stupid, and Peter isn't the only one to think so. Theo looks supremely uncomfortable at the idea, and because he does, even Liam's enthusiasm seems a little hesitant, despite his unfailing loyalty to his Alpha. The way it _should_ have been for Scott... Derek looks conflicted. Malia doesn't. Peter inwardly decides that she had gotten _that_ from her mother.

Despite the clear dangers in doing so, Scott decides to confront the manticore and attempt to chase it from the territory. He's still new, still wet-behind-the-ears enough to believe that making enough noise will truly scare away something operating on nothing but instinct. Peter's protests are noted (and scoffed at), and it is with _extreme_ reluctance that he goes along with the rest of the pack.

In the end, it goes as well as Peter had assumed it would. The manticore is feral, its half-human, half-feline eyes sunken and gaunt with hunger as its skin all but plasters itself to visible ribs. The creature is clearly starving and beyond even base reason, but it doesn't stop Scott from trying. So, when the manticore suddenly snarls - revealing three rows of razor-sharp, jagged teeth - and lunges at him, Peter isn't surprised. He does yell out a warning about _avoiding_ the creature's long, curled, scorpion-like tail, but Scott either doesn't hear him, or doesn't acknowledge him.

So quick and bloody is the fight that no one seems to realize the very real danger that they're all in. Scott keeps trying to scare the thing and block Theo from clawing it, citing that it's _just scared_ , and Peter growls, frustrated at the sheer ineptitude of this pack.

Hurt, scared, and furious, the manticore yowls and claws and scrambles through the throng of attackers. Peter might have even pitied it had he not realized - a split second before it happens - just what the creature's plans turn out to be.

In a sea of flailing claws and snarls, the manticore settles on its easiest prey. Peter sees Stiles a few paces away, scrambling back out of the way, and he sees the way that the beast's haunches suddenly tense as it turns to face him. A small spike of panic rushes through Peter's chest, because manticore venom is _lethal_ to a human when it reaches the heart.

Before he can even _think_ about why, he moves. He hadn't been that far away from Stiles, and so he doubts that anyone will read into it as he intercepts the pouncing creature midway. The beast collides with him instead, and Peter feels the sudden stab into his side just as needle-sharp claws tear down across his chest. Pain and a twist of sharp nausea rush through him, but he still snarls and lunges.

The manticore goes down under his claws, its head snapping back and falling to the ground as Peter damns Scott's _mercy_ and does what needs to be done. Unfortunately, as the manticore goes limp and slumps, Peter realizes that his legs feel weaker than they should. He reaches back until he finds the burning pain in his side, and when he wrenches the source back, he grimaces. The scorpion-like tail is bloody and dripping in his hand as he drops it.

In the distance, he can hear the pack's relief. He can hear Scott's disappointment. Only Derek is looking at Peter like he's concerned, but Peter merely steps back, letting the body slump to the ground. No one seems to notice as he leans back against a tree, but when his legs give out, he _thinks_ he hears Derek shout.

Oh, Peter knows that he won't _die_ from this. He can already feel his body fighting off the venom, but as blood soaks the tattered hem of Peter's shirt and he clutches at his side, he doesn't have to feel _good_ about it. But he feels even worse when he glances up and sees how pale and scared Stiles looks. Yet still, Stiles stays where he is. Peter hadn't expected anything else.

* * *

Shit may calm down between them, but that means the supernatural world acts up. Well it might be cool to come across something new - a freakin' _manticore_ \- the thing is dangerous because you know shit's serious when a creature's got multiple parts of _other_ beasts - a scorpion tail? Lion body? Wings? Poison? While it's cool, it's also dangerous and Stiles isn't so sure that they can make friends with it, but he understands that Scott doesn't want to kill it. It's not that Stiles _wants_ to, but the animal is dangerous and not very human-ish at all.

But Scott wants them to try and scare it away so Stiles will support him and it's worth a shot, right? So, he drives out with them, because Stiles is fully capable of making loud noises at least.

Nothing works out, however, and it's kind of all going to shit, and then Stiles' life is actually in danger - _mortal_ danger and everything - because the manticore is facing him and Stiles swears he can see the intent in its eyes to have a nice Stilesburger.

Stilesburger doesn't happen because the manticore doesn't get to him - _Peter_ gets to it first and everything happens in such a rush, but Peter saves him by killing the giant beast.

Frozen, Stiles' heart races because that's what happens when one is faced with near-death situations. Amidst the chaos of the pack rushing over, Stiles' own gaze is torn between seeking Peter out and Scott, but he can't go over because Peter and he may be _civil_ but they're not friendly-friendly out in public or with the pack.

It's when Peter's body slumps down that Stiles' pulse skips because it looks like Peter's hurt. It's Derek who helps his uncle up and all Stiles can do is volunteer his Jeep to transport Peter. With white knuckles, Stiles drives away from the preserve and without thought, he takes the first correct turn to Peter's apartment because by now driving to Peter's place is second nature.

"...Take the next left," Derek grunts out, sounding _slightly_ suspicious and it's then that Stiles realizes he's supposed to _not_ know where Peter lives.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles answers, clearly distracted. His eyes keep flicking up to his rearview mirror to get a glimpse of Peter in the backseat.

* * *

Collapsing isn't exactly something to brag about, but Peter can't help it. While his body will be able to fight the venom off, that doesn't mean that it's going to feel good. It might not be wolfsbane, but it is still toxic enough that had he already been gravely injured, it might have killed him. It won't, but as the fire of venom rushes through his veins and Peter closes his eyes and leans his head back against the tree he'd sunk down against, he's not happy about this outcome.

Better him than Stiles, though. Stiles would have _actually_ died. Something that Scott seems to at least realize as he rushes over to his best friend, looking horrified. Then he seems to actually _see_ Peter and a complicated flicker of something passes behind his eyes.

Before Peter can wonder what might be going on in Scott's simple little mind, something big and hulking sweeps into his vision. He glances up, his blood burning but his skin feeling cold as ice and Peter only has to take one look at the conviction in Derek's eyes before he gives up. He _could_ fight, could protest, but Derek doesn't look like he'll be easily manipulated.

It doesn't take long for Derek to get him into the back of Stiles' Jeep. To Peter's annoyance, Derek does have to support him the whole way but his nephew is at least smart enough not to say anything about it.

Not that Peter has many quips at his disposal right now. He's bleeding freely and he's in a great deal of pain, but he still reaches out to awkwardly shove Derek away when it looks like Derek is going to climb in back with him. Peter might be hurt, but he's not desperate.

Stiles is, though. Maybe Peter's not as lucid as he wants to be, and maybe the drive to his apartment has his jaw and fists clenching hard enough to risk breaking bone, but he can still scent Stiles' shock and distress. And if he can scent it, so can Derek. And with that little direction slip-up, Peter can already scent Derek's suspicion.

Cold sweat beading on Peter's forehead, he looks up just enough to catch Stiles' eyes in the rearview mirror. Stiles looks stunned, but Peter can read the fear in his eyes, too.

"Kindly keep your eyes on the road," Peter manages to grunt, jaw tight with pain. "I'll heal, but not if you get into an accident and throw me through the windshield."

* * *

This is a supremely shitty situation to be in. It's never really mattered before - the pretending to not be fucking each other and being friendly because it was a non-issue. Both Scott and Peter don't like each other, so Peter doesn't often hang around the pack. But now Peter's hurt and Stiles can't do anything about it and Derek's here and Stiles is thankful that it's Derek helping versus someone else, but it's still _Derek,_ Peter's nephew.

And Stiles needs to pretend that he _doesn't_ know how to drive to Peter's - that he hasn't sped over here, wanting and focused. He's also has to make sure that he's not too worried or freaked out, but what the fuck is the _normal_ or appropriate amount of stress? Does Derek suspect anything? And would Derek even care? He imagines with the adrenaline and fear from the attack mixing with injury, blood and poison that his Jeep reeks of multiple levels of stress anyway. Hopefully.

Yeah, hopefully.

Later, Stiles will be pissed that Scott tried to do the equivalent of scaring a rabid bear away. They might as well have gone out with pots and pans and banged them. Fuck, Peter got hurt _saving him_ from becoming a Stilesburger, and Stiles doesn't even think a 'thank you' really suffices for that kind of thing. Plus, he has a feeling that Peter's gonna be annoyed that he's getting emotional about it too.

Peter's command? His comment? It actually helps calm Stiles down because if Peter's able to give him attitude, Peter's okay - or at least okay enough. Stiles tries to make some sort of unamused snort.

"I never get into accidents," Stiles retorts. He leaves out the numerous speeding tickets that his Dad has helped with...

Derek continues with directions and Stiles tries to keep his shit together. When they arrive outside of Peter's building, Stiles gets out of his Jeep without thinking. He's going to at least see that Peter gets into bed or whatever. Mercifully, Derek doesn't make a comment. Stiles helps, grabbing the door for Derek who's supporting Peter.

Once inside, Stiles forgoes taking off his shoes because Derek doesn't and Stiles needs to pretend that he doesn't know about Peter's prissy house rules.

"Douche-y place," Stiles comments half-heartedly as Derek drags Peter to his room, Stiles trailing behind. Trying to pretend that he's not been here? That Peter hadn't fucked him over the couch or in his bed? It's more difficult than Stiles would like.

* * *

Peter isn't sure what's worse: the pain, or the scent of Stiles' clear distress in the Jeep. Derek's scent is tinged with the same but Peter knows that Derek can handle himself. It's mildly touching to know that Derek cares enough to be inconvenienced when Peter is severely injured, but at least Derek can keep himself centered.

Stiles can't. It's only by a miracle that Derek doesn't seem to immediately jump to the right conclusion. Not that _Peter_ would mind exactly, but he knows that anonymity is important for Stiles. Not that he's doing a great job of showing it right now.

Mercifully, the drive isn't that long, and Derek soon takes over, issuing directions and letting Peter focus on his own healing. The venom burns deep in his veins, and there _is_ a flicker of old panic at the idea of anything burning, but he can still feel the searing heat of it lessen bit by bit as Stiles makes progress.

In the end, Stiles comes up with them. Derek thankfully supports Peter without comment, and while the trip up into his apartment is sluggish and irritating due to his own damnable weakness, Peter is still grateful to be able to _get_ there. He's also secretly grateful that no one had suggested he go to Deaton. Much as that might have implied they _gave_ a damn, Peter doesn't trust that conniving asshole.

No one takes their shoes off at the door, but Peter lets it slide this time. And, while Stiles' comment does make Peter grunt, it isn't until Derek is about to lower Peter onto his bed that Peter finally pushes at him.

"I don't think the state of my apartment is that pressing right now, Stiles," he drawls, playing his part. Peter shifts on his feet, nodding towards the bathroom instead. "And if it's the same to you, I'd rather clean up _before_ permanently ruining my sheets."

Derek just stares at him for a moment, incredulous. But, seeing his uncle's expression, Derek rolls his eyes and takes his hand away, gesturing to Stiles.

"God, you're impossible," he growls. "Fine. Stiles? You take him. I'll get a change of clothes."

"Make a pot of coffee, too," Peter adds unsteadily, stepping over to his attached bathroom, his hands already pulling at the hem of his shirt. "Something tells me we could all use some after this."

* * *

Peter's fine. Peter's okay. Or at least he's okay enough to play along and pretend that they haven't been doing the hot 'n nasty for months now. When it was just the two of them alone, Stiles conveniently never thought about how it might affect those around them. It's impossible to _not_ think about it now, at least in relation to Derek, because the broody studmuffin is here and helping and much more suspicious about things and people in general.

Stiles may be aware that they have to pretend, but that isn't his biggest concern - _Peter_ is. And that's... fuck, it's new for Stiles. He's used to caring about the well being of his Dad and friends and Stiles would even say his fellow man-woman-child too are up there, but _Peter Hale_? Not that Stiles has wished Peter's demise - not for some time now - but it's not something he's entirely used to experiencing.

Following along, Stiles feels completely off-kilter, like he's been plucked out of his usual day and put into someone else's life, because he can't do what he wants, he can't say what he wants. He's gotta pretend and this kind of pretend is horrible when you can't do what everything in your body is screaming at you to do.

Peter's direction changes things and Stiles finds himself dazedly coming over to Peter as Derek's sent away to get clothing and start coffee. Already, the increase in proximity helps. Stiles hesitantly reaches out to help Peter pull off the shirt. They go slow with it because it's like, sticking to the oozing wound and gross stuff like that.

Stiles _wants_ to say stuff, to say a lot of stuff even, but he doesn't. He can't. His own hands shake as they death grip onto the bloody and dirty shirt.

"Peter..." is all Stiles can hoarsely say, but he doesn't look up.

* * *

Peter's shirt is ruined. There's no fixing it, not with the claw marks raked into it from the collar to the waist, and not with the puncture in the side. Unfortunately for Peter, all the rips coincide with rips in his _own_ skin, and even with Stiles' help, it's not a pleasant experience.

Peter stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, leaning against the vanity to help keep himself upright as he and Stiles gently peel the shirt away from his skin together. Stiles is overly quiet, but despite the burning of venom and his own stress-scent, Peter can make out Stiles' scent superimposed in the bathroom. He smells like stress and fear and - most damning - regret. For now, Peter focuses on his shirt, though Stiles' state is like a beacon beside him.

It's not pretty. Even Peter grimaces when Stiles pulls the shirt up and over his head. On top of the slowly-closing stab wound on his side, he's got three open slashes on his chest. They're already clotting, already sticky, and when Peter looks closely enough, he can see off-green liquid mixed into the blood. The venom, likely. At least it's working its way out.

He ignores how pale his reflection looks, and does what he can to ignore the pain of it as he reaches out and half-fumbles a washcloth, running it under the sink. It's only once the cloth is damp that Peter hears the soft, almost-stricken sounding way that Stiles says his name.

Peter glances at him immediately, noting the grip that Stiles has on his shirt, and the way that his hands are shaking visibly. With a soft, muttered curse in the back of his throat, Peter switches the washcloth to his other hand and reaches out.

He's quiet as he sets his hand on the back of Stiles' neck, squeezing the way that wolves do to convey comfort - and more. Peter grips tighter, an Alpha offering comfort to an Omega, and then he lifts the washcloth to his chest with a grimace, dabbing at the clotting wounds. They'll heal quicker once they're clean.

"I'll be fine," he says quietly - quiet enough so that Derek can't hear him. "If you want to help, put on a pair of gloves. There's disposable ones in the closet. Manticore venom is deadly to humans, and while I doubt skin contact would hurt you, better to be safe."

He pauses, listening for Derek in the other room, and then adds, "and be sure to breathe. You sound panicked."

* * *

A freakin' manticore is cool, but Stiles can't nerd out over the discovery of a new supernatural creature right now. Not when it hurt Peter and not when it hurt Peter _because_ Stiles was in danger. Because Stiles is _just_ a piddly human. Yeah, he hates the reminder, but he hates everything else _more._ The _everything_ _else_ is the fact that Peter's hurt, Stiles is worried, he can't help, he needs to pretend that they're not close, can't take Peter's pain away, and he couldn't even race over to make sure Peter was okay... Peter had been by himself, bleeding and slumped against a tree. How fucking awful.

Stiles could ask Derek to do the werewolf pain-drain, but he has a feeling that even if Derek were to agree, Peter probably would insist that he's fine because Peter likes to be difficult and heaven forbid he needs help.

Peter's injuries aren't like, _the worst,_ but they're definitely ugly and oww-looking. They also look deep and painful and they're not healing especially fast either.

_Are you okay? Do you need anything? Can I do anything? Does it hurt really bad? How long will it take to heal? Should I go? Do you want me to stay?_

All of these questions spin around in Stiles' mind, but he's only able to say Peter's name. Even that seems foreign on his tongue, like he's saying it wrong, or maybe it's his voice that sounds too small.

Stiles doesn't even realize Peter's moved until a hand is grasping at the back of his neck. He immediately looks up and it feels like it's the first time they've made direct eye contact in a long while. Stiles' neck is squeezed and he immediately feels better at the contact. His eyes search Peter's face, seeing the lines of distress and a slight sheen of sweat.

It's Peter's assurance that has color returning to Stiles' own face and given some direction? That also helps.

"Yeah..." And Stiles moves toward the closet, locating the box of gloves and pulling on two before returning back to Peter. He does try and take some slower, calming breaths.

* * *

Stiles' distress is almost palpable in the air between them, but Peter's grip on his nape does seem to get through to him. The scent of his distress is acrid and Peter's not particularly charmed by it, but it's Derek's suspicion that he's hoping to avoid. The only upside of Stiles' stress-scent is that Derek is likely to believe that it's due to Stiles still feeling shaken over the near-attack.

Peter doesn't let himself think too hard on anything else. His wounds are painful but he'll heal from them fully, even if it will likely take a few days, and he hadn't been expecting any support from the pack, so he's not annoyed that it's only Derek and Stiles with him. Malia's hesitation... _is_ a sting in the back of his mind, but he's long-since resigned himself to her decisions, whatever those might be.

So, he focuses on Stiles. He watches as Stiles hastens to get the gloves and then puts them on. He still looks shaken, still looks a little pale, but having something to do clearly helps him out. Shifting his weight, Peter toes his shoes off a little clumsily before pressing the washcloth harder to his chest. He grimaces at the spike of pain, but it doesn't take him long to ready another cloth for Stiles.

Beckoning Stiles over, Peter hands him the cloth and then gestures to the wound on his side, where the stinger had caught him.

"Good. Take the cloth and put pressure, just here. It's beginning to close. Just keep steady. Keep breathing." Peter adds the last bit under his breath, and - more because he thinks _Stiles_ needs it, he adds on, "I appreciate the drive back here. But if you think for one second you're staying here without taking your shoes off, you've got another thing coming."

* * *

Gloves on, Stiles doesn't really know what to do, but considering that he doesn't want to be poisoned, the gloves make sense. It'd be just his luck that he somehow gets poisoned _after_ Peter acted all heroic and decided to save him. Peter telling him to do things isn't especially new, it's just... this isn't sexy times. This is surviving dangerous times, and dealing with the fallout, and Stiles hates this fallout because... reasons.

And those reasons are complicated. Stiles never had to think about this particular situation before. Before this, it'd been easy to keep Peter a secret, to have the best of both worlds. Go to Peter, get his brains fucked out, and then hang out with his friends and the pack, no complications, no shame, because no one had to know anything. Easy peasy. Simple.

Seeing Peter work off his shoes almost has Stiles laughing because it's just _so Peter,_ to care about that at this moment. But Stiles doesn't laugh, and when he's passed a washcloth, he's much more interested in doing something to help.

He steps closer, and presses the cloth to a wound, frankly glad that he doesn't need to look at it anymore. It's Peter's comment about _his_ shoes that has Stiles cracking a small smile.

"You're ridiculous," Stiles mutters, but he lifts his hand, fingers stroking into Peter's hair as he grips. He pulls at Peter's head and tilts his own up, uncaring about whether or not they're caught, because right now Stiles just wants to give Peter a kiss.

* * *

Peter's comment isn't for himself. It's for Stiles. Looking at him right now, at how lost he looks, Peter thinks that Stiles needs a little normalcy back in his life. Only a few days ago, Peter had refused to kiss him until he'd taken his shoes off at the door, and Stiles had laughed and called him _anal_ and impossible until he'd relented for a reward.

Now, Stiles manages to crack a small smile as he sets the cloth against Peter's side. It's not at all pleasant; in fact, the pressure of it is almost enough to make him close his eyes and grimace, but he's had far worse than this. The added pressure against his side just makes the wound burn even more - the source of the venom - and Peter feels another little thread of panic-pain worm its way through him at the thought of anything burning his skin.

But Stiles looks steadier with direction and with normalcy. Peter glances at him, relieved that the stress-scent lightens slightly, but he's still not expecting Stiles to reach up and thread his fingers into Peter's hair. The latex tugs slightly but it's not an unpleasant sensation, merely a reminder that it's someone else's fingers acting independently of what he would have done.

The kiss is... more of a surprise, particularly given their additional company. Peter stills, grunting slightly in the back of his throat as Stiles pulls him down enough to pinch the slowly-healing wounds, but Peter doesn't mind that much. Stiles kisses him like he needs to do it, and given how stressed he still smells, and how high his tension has been this last hour, Peter won't take that away from him.

Peter still kisses back. He takes a moment to wipe his fingers clean from any possible venom and blood and reaches out, winding an arm around Stiles' chest. In the kitchen, he can hear the stuttering of the coffee machine drowning this out, just as he'd hoped it would. Derek is busy, and it gives them a few moments at least. Peter just kisses Stiles, distantly aware that this isn't something that they _do_ unless sex is involved.

Granted, grievous bodily harm _is_ a fair exception to the rule. Peter isn't bothered. He's more surprised that _Stiles_ had been the one to start it.

"Well. Here's hoping that helped," he says into the space between them when they part. He knows he still looks pale, knows there's still pain in his eyes, but Peter knows how to maintain levity.

"Just keep the pressure on my side. And take off your shoes. If you leave scuffs, you're cleaning them up with your tongue."

* * *

Kissing Peter probably isn't the smartest idea out there, but Stiles isn't in the best headspace to be thinking smartly. Worry and a near-death experience will do that to a man, plus the whole deception and hiding thing is another weighty complication. Stiles doesn't even _want_ to think about the fact that he was really in a dangerous position either and what that may say about his friends because he doesn't want to be left out of said dangerous situations in the future.

Kissing is still new-ish for them, it's still a treat. And Peter is good at kissing too, good at teasing him, and Stiles lets himself, just for a moment, forget about what the fuck is happening and _has_ happened. Peter's mouth on him helps Stiles forget about the fact that he's pushing a cloth against a gross wound.

The gloves on him don't really allow him to feel Peter's hair, but he's still touching Peter and there's no barrier between their lips. Stiles will take what he can get. His worry starts to settle some after Peter's other arm wraps around him. If only he was a Disney prince and his luscious-but-masculine lips could cure Peter. It's t's a stupid thought, but it helps him feel better.

It's expected that Peter makes a comment to try and lighten the mood. Stiles just huffs as he shakes his head.

"I think you'd like that too much," he teases back. "Me on my hands and knees lickin' your floor." But Stiles does work off his sneakers because apparently scuffs are _really_ important for Peter.

* * *

The kissing might be a new development between them but Peter can't pretend that it doesn't help. Initially he'd assumed that it would only help Stiles feel better, but there's something familiar about Stiles pressed so close. Peter feels his own instincts settling back down too, feels the knot of tension inside begin to unwind at having Stiles this close. The pack bond is something that no wolf can take for granted; often times it's the difference between life and death.

If Peter had no pack - had no connection to Derek or Malia or Stiles - this injury might have killed him. It would have been slow and painful, his body struggling to fight off the venom. He's not about to tell either Stiles or Derek that, though. Best they not know.

Still, despite the discomfort that comes from Stiles' touch to his side, Peter's relieved that he's here. When the kiss breaks, Stiles looks a little more settled and Peter feels himself relax slightly. Obediently, albeit with a few small quips, Stiles does slip his sneakers off, and Peter nudges them a few feet away. He's still listening for Derek, distantly aware that his nephew could walk in at any moment, but he thinks Stiles needs this levity.

"Perhaps you have a point. I _do_ like it when you're on your hands and knees for me. Particularly when your mouth is involved," he quips back easily.

Lifting the cloth away from his chest just a little, Peter assesses the healing. It'll be slow going and not particularly pleasant, but it should be fine. He sighs, then reaches over and wrings the washcloth out with one hand, squeezing water and blood out before re-wetting it in the sink.

"I hope you know," Peter goes on after a beat, "that you're under no obligation to stay here if you don't want to be. I certainly don't mind the company, or the help. But it's been a long evening for you, too."

* * *

It's actually a stupid relief to have Peter bugging him about taking off his fucking shoes. It's a little spike of normalcy amidst this abnormal stressful situation that Stiles wishes _wasn't_ happening. A small part of his brain weakly insists that, later, he can tease Peter about trying to save his ass and getting all heroic on him... but _most_ of Stiles doesn't want to do that. It doesn't seem like joke material to him, or at least Stiles doesn't _want_ to make a joke about it.

Maybe Stiles doesn't want to joke about it because he _likes_ the idea that Peter cared about him and wanted to prevent Stilesburger from occuring. Considering that the potential of _more_ has been brought up, Stiles is less weirded out by the idea that Peter might actually care about him because if Peter's down to be monogamous _and_ he's not perturbed by the idea of their thing becoming some sort of relationship, there's little chance that Peter feels _nothing_ toward him.

Because Peter isn't as evil and heartless as Scott and the others may think.

Given the circumstance, Stiles is glad that his dick only gives a slight twitch of interest at Peter's resulting quip. Now isn't the time to be getting hard and horny and wet, but it's still _Peter,_ and honestly... when they're doing stuff, Stiles is touching Peter, he's grasping at him digging his fingernails in. The antsy urge to touch Peter more and press closer is likely pack-related or that he's used to Peter as an Alpha, but just because Stiles knows why it exists, doesn't make it any easier to handle.

Peter's assurance that he doesn't need to stay has Stiles frowning, His head leans in - careful to not touch any wounds - as he rests his forehead on Peter's shoulder.

"I don't wanna leave you," Stiles murmurs quietly and somewhat muffled, but Peter will still be able to hear the words.

* * *

Peter sees nothing particularly amiss in freeing Stiles of his obligation to stay. The evening isn't likely to be particularly memorable or pleasant, and Peter knows that his mood does tend to ease down when he's in pain. Stiles had done his part in bringing him here; he's under no obligation to stay, especially when Derek can take care of the rest.

He's not expecting the small spike of distress that cuts through the air at his suggestion. Glancing down at Stiles, Peter eyes him speculatively, considering the way that Stiles leans in and rests his forehead against Peter's shoulder. If he didn't know any better, he might read that as Stiles wanting comfort, but with Derek there, it's likely not smart.

Stiles doesn't want anyone in the pack finding out about this, and Peter can't fault him for that. He'll be respectful about it. Still, if Stiles is comfortable enough leaning in like this, Peter won't make a move to push him away. Stiles being this close isn't uncomfortable, and if Peter's being honest, the contact does help lessen some of the discomfort.

Stiles giving him something else to focus on doesn't hurt either. Particularly when he mentions that he doesn't want to leave. Peter hums in the back of his throat.

"In that case, you're welcome to stay. You could offer to keep an eye on me so that Derek can leave, if you like."

* * *

Stiles can't do the werewolf pain drain, he can't even mix Peter's favorite drink because Peter always insists on doing it himself, pretentious douchebag that he is. But Stiles, as _he_ is, is extremely limited. Maybe if they were a bonded pair he could do something more, but they're not and that's... that's way too serious.

Stiles isn't even sure if he's trying to comfort himself or comfort Peter, but his hand continues to press the washcloth against Peter's abdomen. Just his forehead on Peter's bare shoulder provides them that skin-on-skin contact. Being closer helps him at least. Maybe it's selfish, but Stiles doesn't want to go away. If he stays with Peter, he can make sure Peter's okay - he'll be in the loop instead of wondering and worrying.

The smell of antiseptic and monster goo overwhelm Peter's usual appealing scent, and that in and of itself is distressing. Stiles swallows past a lump in his throat. The idea of leaving Peter now? Of bending down and picking up his shoes and going to the front door and pretending that he's not affected by all this? It'd suck.

Peter's suggestion to talk to Derek makes sense, but in order to do that, Stiles will have to move away which he's not ready to do just yet. He does nod and then closes his eyes as he rubs his forehead against Peter's shoulder in an attempt at a nuzzle.

"Here's your-- _oh_ ," and that familiar gruff voice gets all embarrassed by what he's just seen.

Stiles startles, mostly from surprise versus awkwardness or regret. Obviously if he was really worried about Derek finding out, he wouldn't have done anything, but screw that. Turning around, Stiles' cheeks are slightly flushed but he stands his ground.

"Oh, congratulations, you now know about Peter and I!" Stiles exclaims. Best to just be direct, he thinks. "I'll take the coffee."

* * *

Stiles is looking to comfort himself, but Peter doesn't blame him about that. As much as it could be due to Peter's own injuries, there's also a very real possibility that it's because Stiles had come so close to dying. One step forward to put him in range and he could have died, and as often as Peter looks death in the face, Stiles is still human.

Never once does Peter assume that Stiles' stress is due to him being an Omega. He's far too intelligent for that. But there's no ignoring the fact that Stiles had come very close to never waking up again.

The little rub of Stiles' forehead against Peter's shoulder is enough for Peter to reach up absently and press his hand to Stiles' nape again. He squeezes, as comforting as he can be as he urges the wound on his chest to bleed and spill the venom out of his bloodstream.

It's a testament to just _how_ out of it Peter is that he doesn't hear Derek until it's _far_ too late. He only just hears the turn of the doorknob but he's not quick enough to realize what that _means_. It's only when he hears Derek's sudden exclamation that Peter snaps his gaze up and over at his nephew.

Derek looks... shocked. Shocked and embarrassed. Stiles' scent spikes in alarm but it doesn't take him long to recover - just blurting out that they're together.

Derek looks a little like someone just squeezed lemon juice into an open wound and then made him eat it, and he definitely makes eye contact with Peter for a few seconds too long to be normal. Peter looks back at him steadily and - at Derek's quirked eyebrow - he shrugs one of his shoulders. It's enough to apparently settle something in Derek's chest, even though he definitely doesn't look happy.

"That explains so much," he mutters to himself, handing Stiles the coffee. He ignores Peter's small chuckle and instead turns on Stiles, squinting uncomfortably at him. "So do you... you know."

"He's got this covered," Peter interjects flatly. "You don't have to stick around if you have somewhere else to be."

"Right." Derek looks between them again, something conflicted and definitely off in his eyes, but he doesn't actually say anything against this. He doesn't ask any questions he shouldn't. Instead, he reaches over and presses his palm against Peter's shoulder and he focuses, closing his eyes with a small grimace.

Slowly, black lines creep up his forearm, rising and crawling under his skin. He doesn't go too far, doesn't do too much, but the relief is immediate. Peter swallows as the pain flickers out, and he's mildly gratified by the grunt of pain that Derek lets out, proving that this _is_ as unpleasant as it feels.

"Thank you," Peter says. He's not a complete asshole _all_ the time, after all.

"Don't mention it. You're good?" Derek adds, glancing at Stiles hesitantly.

* * *

All things considered, Derek finding out isn't horrible and here's why: Derek isn't some gossipy slut, it's unlikely that he'll actually want to bring anything up to the rest of the pack or Stiles' Dad. Considering that they both don't have much family left, if something were to ever develop between them, Stiles would want Derek to know... and then hopefully be okay with it.

Ironically, Derek happens to be the first Hale Stiles wanked off over, also the one to kill Peter. Derek's also Peter's nephew, the only survivor of the Hale fire. So, there's some awkwardness with Derek being aware that they --

Shit. Stiles just implied that they were _together,_ not that Peter and he were messing around or friends with benefits or whatever other options he could have gone with.

But Stiles doesn't backpedal. Honestly, if he tried to take it back, he's fairly certain it would be more awkward. Yeah, Derek doesn't look _thrilled_ over this little (big) reveal. Stiles takes the mug of coffee and Derek tries to ask him something - a leading statement that Stiles thinks might involve things like feelings and shit - but Peter doesn't allow it to happen.

Stiles sets the mug down on the countertop, away from the first aid supplies, and he's pleasantly surprised that Derek doesn't ask, but just goes for it, draining some of Peter's pain away. Stiles immediately sees the difference it makes on Peter. Normally he would be geeking out over the supernatural werewolf trick, eyes peeled to the black lines through skin, but tonight is different.

When Derek checks in with him, Stiles gives a quick nod, kinda-sorta touched that Derek is asking about him.

"Yeah, I'm good... and thanks, man. I know it's probably weird that your uncle and I are boinking, but yeah. It is what it is." Rambling? A bit, but not the worst Stiles has done in the past.

Derek predictably grimaces - probably at the word choice - but says nothing else as he turns around and promptly walks away.

Stiles looks over at Peter. "Think you could shower? Might make you feel better."

Given that Peter's covered in sweat, dirt and blood, a shower seems like a safe bet. Stiles' gloved hands fidget by his sides. He wishes he could do more, but he doesn't want to whine about it.

* * *

Peter isn't particularly pleased that Stiles had said anything to Derek, but it's less not being pleased that Stiles had said anything and more that he's not pleased about the _way_ that Stiles had said anything. The word 'boinking' is not necessarily Peter's favorite in the world and hearing it so plainly is enough to make him grimace right along with Derek.

Thankfully, Derek doesn't linger for too long. He seems to have had enough of this, and after checking to make sure that Stiles can handle this on his own, he ducks out with only a half-backward glance at Peter. All things considered, it's almost reassuring, even if Peter would rather not think that.

As things go, it's likely the best possible outcome, all things considered. There's no explosion, Stiles doesn't freak out, and Peter's pain level is significantly reduced, enough that the faint tremble that had existed in his hands seems to have sorted itself out.

Stiles' suggestion of a shower is a good one, even if the wounds will likely keep bleeding sluggishly for a while. And, while Peter can sense that Stiles is hesitant about something, and clearly a little anxious, Peter doesn't pry. They _had_ just been found out, even if Stiles had been the one to explicitly state that that was the case. Stiles is owed a little reprieve.

"I think I could do that," Peter answers, reluctantly setting the bloodied cloth down in the sink. He reaches down, grimacing as he undoes his jeans and notices that they're soaked through with blood from his side. One less pair to work with. A shame, too. These had been relatively expensive.

He still strips down and then walks to the shower, reaching out to turn the water on. Then, as it's warming up, he glances back at Stiles thoughtfully.

"I'd invite you to join me, but I don't want you near the venom," he explains, and then nods to the coffee.

"Drink that. Just be mindful about where you touch the cup before drinking. You're welcome to wait in here if you like."

* * *

It doesn't seem like Peter has a problem with what he'd told Derek - that they're _together_. It's a really good thing and Stiles figures he's pretty lucky that his slip-up is squeaking by. But it is possible that Peter could bring it up later, when he's not, you know, all clawed up and healing slower due to manticore poison. While Stiles is aware that it might come up later, he's not overly anxious about it.

Not when he's currently feeling so useless and helpless and he's worried about Peter. Stiles doesn't know what to do, and he wants to do something - anything - because standing around sucks. That's what he'd been doing out in preserve - just fucking standing around - when Peter had jumped in and saved him.

The shower seems like all he can feasibly suggest, and thankfully Peter seems okay with it. Normally Peter undressing is something Stiles is very interested in - interested in watching, interested in getting his hands involved - but tonight he's standing in Peter's lavish bathroom looking down at his sock feet.

The effect of Derek taking some of Peter's pain is noticeable in how Peter's able to actually finish undressing and move to the shower. Stiles understands why it's a good idea that he _doesn't_ shower with Peter, but it still sucks -it's not something they've often done together, but Stiles wouldn't mind doing it more.

He just nods as Peter climbs into the shower before carefully working off the plastic gloves that don't seem to have made any contact with the poison. After putting the toilet seat down, Stiles sits and glances over at Peter. The shower walls and door are glass so he's able to see him. The coffee mug is untouched.

"Feeling better at all or does that water hurt the wounds?" It seems like a safe enough question to ask.

* * *

A shower is both a wonderful thing as well as a horrible thing considering Peter's current situation. As he steps under the spray, he's immediately left grimacing at the lash of the water over his wounds. The downside of having spectacular water pressure is that that very pressure is now striking open wounds. It's unpleasant, but as Peter chances a glance down, he watches as the residual trickle of venom begins to speed up and drip down his body.

Thankfully the burning is beginning to subside, and as Peter reaches up and forcibly passes his hand over the open clawmarks on his chest, encouraging the venom out, he doubts there will be much left in his system. Sure enough, given the heat from the shower increasing his heart rate, and his own encouragement, the burning begins to lessen more and more, and Peter sees the edges of his wounds beginning to knit back together.

They'll still take a few hours to heal at least. A day if he's unlucky. Still, the immediate lessening of danger is enough to make him feel less horrible.

If only it were enough to make _Stiles_ feel better. Peter doesn't need to look over at him to hear the quick beat of his pulse and to scent the distress rolling off of him in waves. He stands it for as long as it takes to grab the soap - because he's caked in blood and sweat and he feels disgusting - but it doesn't take long for him to sigh and glance sidelong at Stiles through the glass door.

"I'm _fine_ , Stiles. Yes, it stings, but I'll live. I mean, I'm happy to milk this for all it's worth if you want to play nursemaid after the fact, but I _will_ be fine. The wounds are already closing. Drink your coffee."

* * *

This whole night sucks. Stiles is practically banished, sitting on the toilet seat, useless. The sounds of the shower are somewhat comforting, but maybe it's the fact that Peter's able to actually stand that's more of a relief. God, what if Peter wasn't able to heal? What if he died and it actually stuck this time? What if Peter fucking died _saving_ him? How could Stiles even look at himself in the mirror? What would he do? No one would even know why he was upset--

But that stuff didn't happen and Stiles knows he needs to stop fixating on potential what ifs. Peter's showering and okay. The menacing manticore is dead. No one else got hurt. Derek knows about them and hasn't imploded.

And of course this means Stiles _should_ be fine. He wants to be fine. Why can't he be fucking fine? Christ, as much as he wants to blame it on biology - poor little Omega all spooked - Stiles doesn't even think that's exactly it. At least he hopes that it's not.

Tension worms its way through him, unrelenting and unyielding, Stiles' muscles tense and he tries to tell himself to stop being a baby, to toughen up and calm down, because if he doesn't, maybe Peter will send him send him away and then he'd go back to his Jeep and Peter's blood is in the backseat...

It's Peter's not-quite admonishment that shakes Stiles out of the most recent mental avalanche. And despite how easy it would be to just joke back about the milking and nurse comment, Stiles doesn't.

Instead, he stands up and walks toward the shower. Stiles doesn't wait for permission or let himself think - he slides open the shower door and steps in - clothes and all. It helps that Peter's shower is ridiculously large enough to fit a good three people or this would be awkward. Stiles plants himself against the far wall, not wanting to get into Peter's space because he remembers what he'd said about the venom. His socks steadily become wet and the steam feels almost cloying, but it's better now that he can see Peter.

"I don't want coffee," Stiles says stubbornly, eyes imploring Peter. "I'll stay over here. Out of the way." What he's having a hard time articulating is _: I just wanna be close to you._

* * *

Peter doesn't actually enjoy the way that Stiles smells. Most of his scent is eclipsed by the smell of blood and soap, but there's a cloying, sour scent that seems permanently stamped into Peter's senses. It smells heavy and unpleasant, but worse than that is that it seems directly connected to his instincts as well. Peter feels the tension radiating off of Stiles and into his own muscles, and given how exhausted he feels, the tension isn't welcome.

He does expect his little comment to at least begin to cheer Stiles up, or to kickstart him into actually drinking the coffee that Peter had planned on him drinking. Caffeine often calms Stiles down, and Peter's hoping for the same now.

Except... Stiles _doesn't_ answer him. Not immediately. Peter listens and watches idly as Stiles' shape suddenly stands up outside of the shower. Peter has a second to be curious and then, just like that, the shower door opens.

Peter tenses - the venom might mostly be gone by now, but he doesn't want Stiles near it - but when he half-turns to look at Stiles and growl at him to leave, the sound dies before it can come out. Peter has seen Stiles look tense before, but he's only ever seen him look like _this_ once before. Memories of how terrified Stiles had been during the Nogitsune's reign don't particularly settle well in Peter's mind, but it does go to show him how badly this is affecting Stiles.

The explanation - quiet, almost overly submissive - only proves it further. As does the fact that Stiles had just walked into the shower _in his clothes_. Peter frowns to himself, because as exhausted as he feels, somehow Stiles looks like he's doing _much_ worse.

Peter goes quiet. Then, making a decision, he reaches up, slips his claws out, and cuts them into his chest near the clawmarks already present. He grunts, but as his body rushes to heal a _much_ simpler injury, the healing speeds up everything else.

While it takes a second, Peter can tell the moment that the last of the venom finally drains out of him. The burning in his veins lessens completely, and his wounds begin to bleed a little more freely. He sighs and then glances back at Stiles again.

"If you're going to be in here, you might as well make yourself useful. I think the venom is gone, so you'd be better off stripping out of those clothes so that they can start to dry. Then you can come here and help me wash off the blood."

* * *

Okay. So. Stiles _knows_ that he's being dumb and maybe even dramatic, and a part of his brain is like, 'hey stop being so emotional' - but _knowing_ that shit doesn't stop him. He doesn't want to be _having a moment -_ not with Peter, not like this. It's embarrassing, or it's going to be embarrassing once the shock and everything else fades away. Then he's going to get hit by it.

God, he's actually in Peter's shower with his clothes on. Maybe Stiles is shaken up (more than maybe), but he's not dissociating. He's fully aware that he decided to put down the mug of coffee and climb into the shower uninvited _and_ fully clothed. One small victory is that he doesn't have his stupid shoes on.

Water is steadily seeping into his socks and the steam of the shower is causing his clothes to stick, and he's being weird and he hates it, but he doesn't get out. Why?

He can see Peter now. Peter's close - standing and looking unimpressed by what he's done - by what he's _doing._ And Stiles hates that, hates seeing that little frown because he knows it's a worried-frown on Peter's face and not a douchebag-frown, and somehow knowing that makes his chest fucking hurt, and he's not the one actually hurt. He's not supposed _to_ hurt. Not over Peter.

Like a clueless zombie, Stiles is motionless as he stares at Peter. He watches him speed up the healing by providing himself _another_ injury, but less serious. When Peter finally speaks up, it's Stiles' turn to frown because he doesn't care about being useful and stripping out of his clothes. How is that important right now?

With a shake of his head, Stiles pads his way over to Peter, crowding in close. He's getting wet now, probably looking more ridiculous and pathetic, but whatever. His hands lift to grab at Peter's shoulders, his own grip shaky.

"Shut up for a moment, will you?" Because Stiles just needs a moment to be close to Peter, to be able to see him and breathe and touch him. To be close.

And that's what Stiles does - his eyes dart over Peter, first looking at marred skin then to the appealing trail of hair underneath his bellybutton. Peter's goodies are next, then his thighs, before back up his forearms, thick neck, jaw, face. Peter's made up of a bunch of body parts that Stiles happens to be fond of, and those body parts are still here and attached. So Stiles should be fine...

"Don't get all Alpha macho about this... but I was really worried about you," Stiles finally admits, his lips pursing after.

* * *

It's not a panic attack exactly, but it's similar to one. Peter isn't sure how to put it, but Stiles' expression isn't instilling confidence in him as he stands there in the shower, the water washing away the blood on his skin. At first, he thinks that giving Stiles a task to do is going to be helpful for him, but it doesn't take long for the slightly-pinched look on Stiles' face to deepen. Peter changes his mind, then, and while he _can_ hear Stiles' pulse and scent his distress, that doesn't give him a clear-cut solution on what to do _now_.

So, when Stiles tells him to shut up, Peter bites back any throwaway comments and curiously does what he'd been told. He's not an Alpha that has ever cared about how it looks to take orders from an Omega; secondary genders have no deeper, hidden meaning in that regard. Besides, as much as Peter hates to admit it, Stiles looks like he does need the silence.

He's quiet, the water running down his body as Stiles steps in close to him and touches. Stiles' hands grip at his shoulders, and Peter notices that they're shaking a little but he opts not to point that out. Instead, he waits, aware of Stiles looking him over in a way that doesn't feel sexual, but _does_ feel as though Stiles is attempting to reassure himself that Peter is still standing.

A small, egotistical flicker of irritation does spark in Peter's chest, because _this_ isn't the thing that's going to kill him, but he doesn't say as much. Stiles looks distressed enough. And, despite what most of the pack seem to think - despite what most of the pack would _do_ in his stead, Peter actually _is_ an adult.

When Stiles finally admits that he'd been worried, Peter stills in honest surprise.

He glances at Stiles, frowning, and can't resist a small, incredulous, "worried about _me?_ " But it doesn't take Peter long to use that new information and extrapolate on what's happening.

It makes sense almost immediately. Perhaps he hadn't anticipated Stiles' concern, but in retrospect it doesn't surprise him. Not with how Stiles has been acting.

"I was always going to heal, Stiles," Peter says, and despite his typical flippance, he keeps his tone as close to serious as he can manage. He doubts that Stiles would appreciate anything else.

"I would expect you to be more concerned about how close _you_ came to-- ... a less-than-ideal outcome. I assumed that's what you've been upset about."

* * *

Peter's okay. The claw marks are still there and very much _open_ , but they don't look gross or irritated now, so that's a thing. A positive thing. Logically, wanting visual or tangible proof that Peter's doing okay _makes sense,_ but going about it in this dopey pathetic way - his clothes on while in the shower - is the problem.

Well, fuck the problem. Stiles doesn't care if he's being outrageous and ridiculous. Okay, he maybe cares a little, but not enough to stop or change or apologize. No one else is around and he highly doubts Peter would say anything.

Telling Peter to _shut up_ isn't something Stiles normally does - at least not in any serious fashion. That Peter _does_ it and allows Stiles his moment to look him over is kinda telling. Peter can obviously sense that he's distressed or whatever - chemosignals, Omega smells, his expression. Hiding shit from Peter's always been unfair.

It's not that he thinks Peter's weak or fragile - the guy has an aversion to staying dead anyway... it's just that Stiles didn't really care _back then._ Stiles had no vested interest in Peter Hale being alive and well, but he does now. He really does.

Apparently his explanation is a surprise to Peter - Stiles sees it on his face - but that expression does smooth out after a moment as Peter processes Stiles' admission.

"I know I was in danger, that it was a close call, but that's kind of expected," Stiles says slowly. He's a human - he'll always be in more danger, it's just the nature of things.

"But _you're_ the one who got hurt, _you're_ the one who jumped in front... and saved me." Stiles' eyes focus on Peter's face, imploring him to understand.

* * *

The idea of Stiles being _worried_ about him is enough to throw Peter, but not for long. Yes, he's still surprised, and yes, he hadn't expected Stiles to care, but now that he knows better, Peter can understand generally where this is coming from. The only uncertainty is whether Stiles is upset because _Peter_ had been hurt, or if he's upset because, if he had been, it would have supposedly been Stiles' fault.

They're two very different reasons for being upset, and Peter considers Stiles closely for a few moments. He looks ridiculous, his clothes plastered to his body, his _socks_ sodden. Honestly, the socks are what really drive home how pathetic Stiles looks, but instead of rolling his eyes or mocking Stiles about it, Peter only looks contemplative. Stiles doesn't smell any less distressed. That's telling.

Still, he lets Stiles speak, and while Stiles does look at him imploringly, Peter's still cautious enough to not make grand assumptions right now. Especially considering how Stiles has been feeling as of late.

He decides that honesty is probably the best default in this situation. If nothing else, it will give Stiles something to cling to. Some form of context.

"If it helps, it was instinctual," Peter offers easily. "Granted, I'm not about to say that it's something I would have done for _anyone_. I _do_ have a vested interest in you, after all. But it wasn't something I remember thinking about. Apart from being _furious_ at Scott for putting you in that situation to begin with," he adds, sounding a little more caustic.

"I'm not sure if you're feeling guilty, or just distressed. Either way, I'm alive, and so are you. It's all right, Stiles."

* * *

"For a guy who loves the sound of his own voice, you sure know how to say the wrong thing."

The retort slips out without much or any thought. Stiles doesn't mean to be bitchy. The tone he uses is more incredulous with a dash of exasperation, but probably the fond kind. He gets that Peter's not exactly firing on all cylinders or whatever the saying is, but why would Stiles want to hear that Peter's action was an _instinctual_ thing instead of an _'I wanted to do it'_ thing.

Peter makes it sound like some biological _response_ versus some willing choice.

Stiles would have rather it be a conscious choice Peter made.

And yes, Peter goes on to say that he wouldn't do it for just anyone, but it feels like a little pat on the head or something consolatory that Stiles doesn't care for.

A part of Stiles does know that Peter's _trying_ , in a weird way, to be helpful or at least to calm him down... but maybe it's not so much out of caring as in Peter wants him to stop smelling distressed and being an Omega who's wah-ing about.

Stiles' hands fall away from Peter's arms and he frowns, a sort of numbness settling over him as he takes a step back, reaching for the shower door. It's ridiculous to be having this conversation here, and maybe it was a mistake to stick around.

Peter already said it: he's fine.

* * *

Stiles' retort is immediate, and as practiced at people as Peter is, not even he is expecting it. Stiles doesn't sound angry. Oh, he sounds downright _catty_ , but understandably so. Peter's expecting that. What he isn't expecting is for Stiles to sound as incredulous as he does, as though Peter's response had been enough to spark his comment without thought.

For a second, all Peter does is stare at Stiles, half-taken aback. Were he not likely suffering from a touch of shock and blood loss, perhaps he might have been a little quicker on the draw, but as it is, he only stares. Then Peter feels Stiles' hand fall away, and there's something about the frown on Stiles' face that rubs him the wrong way.

As surprised as Peter is that Stiles had decided to grow claws all of a sudden, he doesn't like the look on Stiles' face. And, when it comes down to it, Stiles _does_ tend to take things the wrong way.

Peter remembers a few weeks ago, and how convinced Stiles had been that Peter had been sleeping with someone else.

It's the look on Stiles' face coupled with that memory, _and_ the fact that Stiles seems to close off before turning to the shower door that prompts Peter to move. Without thought, he reaches out and grabs the fabric at Stiles' shoulder, gripping tight enough to keep Stiles from leaving.

"Tell me how I said the wrong thing," Peter says bluntly, because Stiles _does_ have a habit of talking around his issues. "While most of you seem to think that I'm omniscient, I guarantee you that I'm not. I don't know if you're upset because _I_ got hurt, or because _you_ almost did, and you're not giving me much to go on."

* * *

Peter's alive and all right and Stiles can't do anything right now anyway, so he should go. He's useless. In sopping wet clothes that are sticking to him, Stiles needs to get the fuck out of here and regroup because all this emotional stuff is draining and throwing him out of whack and he just wants it to stop.

He wants to stop acting weird. He wants to stop letting Peter affect him so much, because who cares what Peter Hale thinks and does?

... Stiles. That's who. And Stiles doesn't want to care and does sex always lead to feelings? Like c'mon! These stupid annoying feelings that have him embarrassing himself and on edge and fucking _sensitive_. It burns - knowing that he's acting more like a stereotypical Omega. He's gotten used to the sex as an Omega, he's fine with how he behaves... But _this_? This needs to get grounded and then shape up.

Naturally, because Stiles wants to go, Peter doesn't let him. He knows it's futile, but Stiles still tries to pull away from Peter's grip. His face then sours as he glares at Peter, not happy that Peter's so damn clueless, but more upset that he'll have spell it out for him.

"Why the fuck would I be this upset about _myself_?" Stiles blurts out. "I had to _watch_ you get hurt on my behalf and I couldn't do anything about it!"

He's aware his voice is getting louder, but it's too late now. Stiles is on a roll. Time to dig his grave.

"I can't do anything except be worried and stupid over you." Stiles tugs against Peter's grip one more time for good measure. "Then you're acting like it's no big deal and telling me it was instinctual - that you didn't actually _think about it_ \- and I want you to have _wanted_ to do it! … And I want to stop acting like this - you're getting me all crazy and no one wants a crazy Omega--"

Stiles' chest feels tight and he stops himself, taking in a deep breath, needing it after his tirade.

* * *

Normally Peter might have attempted to think through what the issue was. He might have tried to listen to Stiles' pulse and scent and work it out from there, but he's aware of his own limits, and this is sadly one of them. There's nothing that he can do while his senses are so dull with exhaustion and while his body is still aching faintly with the effort it had taken to bleed out the venom.

If ever Peter thinks he should be allowed a little leeway, it's now, but Stiles has never cared about good timing. So, this conversation needs to happen now.

If Peter had been expecting Stiles to hesitate and drag his feet and talk around the issue, that isn't what winds up happening. He holds tight to Stiles' shoulder, and just like that, Stiles is off like a shot. It's a lot all at once, but Peter had been anticipating a bit of a ramble, and as Stiles complains and tries to twist away from him, he listens. As he listens, he thinks, and while a part of him is slightly incredulous that _this_ is the issue, when he reflects on it, he supposes that he can see the problem. Whether or not he wants to.

Stiles is upset because he'd _wanted_ Peter to make that grand gesture for a _reason_. Which he wants because he has yet to truly explore the pitfalls behind _why_ he'd wanted to be exclusive. Sometimes Stiles is one of the most brilliant members of the pack, and sometimes Peter remembers just how young he is. Now is one of those times.

"I don't care if you're crazy. Frankly, I don't think you are. But let's get that out of the way right off the bat," Peter says as soon as Stiles cuts himself off. It seems like the most important thing. "You've been through a lot of stress tonight and whatever you _think_ you're feeling is perfectly normal. You're not acting irrationally to me. You're acting stressed. There's a difference."

The rest of it is... more complicated, but now that Peter _knows_ what the problem is, he can at least work on fixing it.

"As for the 'you wanting me to save you intentionally' part of it, I never said that I didn't. I said it was instinctual, but I don't think you realize what that actually _means_ to a wolf."

Which means that Peter is going to need to tell him. He sighs.

"Had the manticore attacked Derek or Malia, I possibly would have done the same thing, although likely not as quickly. Had it gone for _anyone_ else in the pack, it wouldn't have crossed my mind. Instinct is a visceral need to act. That kind of reaction only exists when there's something to _lose_. To put it in human terms, you're important enough that even my base instincts consider you vital. It wasn't a matter of _wanting_ to save you, exactly. Though I did. It was a matter of _needing_ to."

* * *

On a scale of one to ten, how pathetic it is that Stiles wants Peter to have wanted to save his ass (and everything that's attached to it)? He's pretty sure it's a higher score and that he doesn't want to know the actual number. Actually, that's not even the worst part of this whole not-quite-melt down. The worst part is Stiles' reaction to everything - the disappointment, the rejection, how much he cares. Wanting something and not getting it is like, life, but responding like he is? Ugh, no thanks.

It reminds him of their last miscommunication debacle and it's exactly what Stiles doesn't want to be reminded of - Stiles embarrassing himself by being upset about something and Peter perturbed - but mostly composed - trying to untangle knots.

It's not that getting emotional is bad. After all, Stiles gets emotional with his Dad and Scott because he cares about them - he _loves_ them. Strong feelings - familial or friendship - come with those highs and lows because you're close to them which means you can get hurt or pissed off easier because they _matter_. But what's his excuse with Peter Hale? The Alpha he fucks around with, a werewolf that once offered him the Bite, a guy that's getting him all crazy and fired up and emotional...

Stiles wishes he could have been more succinct with his grievances, but he's never been great at that kind of thing. He may be a chatty motherfucker, but he's usually not that smooth.

When Peter speaks up, it's him telling Stiles that he's not crazy, that what he's feeling is normal given the stressful night. Peter doesn't think he's acting irrationally? Oh. Okay then. Immediately, the tension slowly starts to bleed out of Stiles' muscles. He doesn't speak up again - he's said his piece, it's Peter's turn.

All Stiles can do is stand in Peter's shower, wet clothes clinging to him, and listen as Peter explains what _instinctual_ means to a wolf. It's still ridiculous - he's being ridiculous - but Peter's legitimately answering each of his concerns.

 _'It wasn't a matter of_ wanting _to save you, exactly. Though I did. It was a matter of_ needing _to.'_

"You're such a smooth talker," Stiles mutters. "Could be a politician - might want to look into that." But these comments are just weak teasing remarks because Stiles is still trying to process Peter's explanation. _Fuck_.

With a sigh, he shuffles closer to Peter, a look of subdued surprise on his face. "I didn't think I'd get feelings for you," is what Stiles finally says because there's really no point in trying to deny it anymore.

* * *

This has nothing to do with Omegan irrationality - or the myth that it even exists. This has everything to do with the fact that Stiles is _impossibly_ stressed and the fact that Peter isn't operating at peak efficiency right now. Logically - even psychologically - Peter can trace the origins of every one of Stiles' reactions: terror at almost dying, panic at _Peter_ coming close, the feeling of impotence at not being able to do anything but drive Peter to his apartment, and the panic-shock of coming down from such a high and feeling lost and useless. It makes sense.

It doesn't make it any easier on Stiles, but it does give Peter the added patience to deal with how he's feeling. It's not irrational; it's trauma. And if there's one thing that Peter understands viscerally, it's trauma. Even now, though the venom is gone from his system, his skin still feels hyper-sensitized and too tight after the burning feeling that the venom had brought with it.

Still, Peter doubts that he can come out and _call_ it trauma, and so he doesn't. Instead, he explains the rest of it, and he's relieved to see that all it takes is the reassurance that Stiles _isn't_ acting irrationally for Stiles' shoulders to slowly relax.

To his credit, Stiles listens closely. He listens, he jokes back weakly, but Peter can see the moment that understanding passes Stiles' eyes. There's a flicker of something else, something tight and would-be-unpleasant, and then Stiles turns back and steps in closer. Close enough that the spray of water hits his thighs.

Peter isn't surprised by _what_ Stiles winds up saying, but he is a little surprised _that_ Stiles says it. Peter had suspected as much, and the look he gives Stiles is one of mixed understanding and sympathy.

"Yes, I'd expect that that wouldn't have been your first impulse, especially considering who I am," Peter agrees. "Imagine _my_ surprise when my instincts kicked in." He snorts softly.

"Oh, I've known for a while that I appreciate your company, but I hadn't realized that you'd wormed _quite_ so deeply under my skin. Congratulations."

* * *

Feelings for Peter Hale? Check. Stiles has got 'em. Only now does it seem so glaringly obvious. While epiphanies or self-realization are generally considered to be positive things, Stiles isn't really glad that it's happening here and now. This night's already been a complete shit show.

Siles would rather have some time to decompress from nearly becoming a Stilesburger. And then he'd like some time to process that _Peter_ saved his cute ass but got hurt because of it. Those two activities alone deserve a solid day of vibing and trying to find some inner balance about said events.

But it's happening here and now - Stiles' meltdown, Peter blabbing in his weird roundabout Peter way where he's being direct but still somehow managing to dance around being like, _personal-honest_. It's something that Stiles has noticed - Peter being more clever and careful in his honesty. Peter doesn't lie, but he doesn't really get vulnerable either and it's the same now.

"Did you really just congratulate me for being a _worm_ \- for _worming_ my way under your skin?"

But it has Stiles lightening up, his lips curling into a smaller-but-still-amused smile. Maybe Peter doesn't say stuff directly, but Stiles understands that there's an acknowledgment.

Peter has feelings too which means they _both_ have feelings.

* * *

Peter does have feelings. What those feelings _are_ almost don't matter in the face of him inwardly admitting it. Perhaps he doesn't feel the same as Stiles right now, but what he does feel matters.

To someone obsessed with self-preservation and self-interest, the fact that he'd thrown himself in danger _for Stiles_ is telling. Peter might not have the words, but he does have the instincts, and his instincts demand that Stiles be safe, alive, and content. He's always enjoyed Stiles' wit, humor, and sarcasm. He definitely enjoys the sexual aspect of their relationship. Still, while Stiles has feelings, he's also not fully considered the consequences _of_ his feelings, and what they'll mean. One day, he might. Then they'll talk.

All that matters right now is that Stiles looks more relaxed. There's a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before, and while Peter's still exhausted, he feels more settled knowing that Stiles is stable. And when Stiles smiles at him and delivers his little quip, Peter chuckles to himself and leans in.

He reaches out to lift Stiles' chin with one finger and then presses their lips together. It's a quick kiss, but Peter knows that Stiles typically enjoys them, and right now, he'd rather keep Stiles looking as pleased as he does. Seeing Stiles happy makes _him_ feel more at ease, and after a second, Peter sighs.

"If the shoe fits, I'm afraid I'll call you a worm as many times as I need to," he says, fondness edging his tone.

"Now. Would you mind helping me finish up here so I can bandage these?" Peter gestures vaguely to his chest and side. "If it's all the same, I'd rather be in bed than standing here. Not that I'm particularly pleased to need to say it, but I _am_ exhausted, and I think we could both manage to sleep for a week."

Peter pauses for a second and then sends Stiles a curious look.

"That is, if you'd _like_ to stay. You're welcome to."

* * *

Considering all the worries and concerns that Stiles has practically vomited up, the fact that Peter's still here and hasn't thrown him out or called it quits? It's big. Major, even. Although, Peter probably isn't in much of a mood to toss anyone out of his home as he's in the process of healing from painful-looking slashes. That's a plus.

Stiles _could_ push, he could press Peter to give him a direct or blunt answer that's more normal and expected... But he doesn't feel the need to. Stiles is just glad that he finally feels like he's come clean about stuff, that everything's out of his head, all the thoughts twisting and turning in his skull now still. It's an honest relief, and after tonight, Stiles could go for some relief.

When Peter kisses him, Stiles doesn't kiss back, but he's receptive. He enjoys the sudden, almost sweet _hello_ of Peter's lips on his own. And being Peter's worm... Well, it's really not that bad, all things considered. Maybe it's even an accomplishment of some kind. Whatever it is, Stiles feels much better and settled, and this time when Peter gets practical about Stiles helping him, he doesn't fight back.

"I'll stay over and play clueless nurse trying to do his best," Stiles pipes up. "Might be my best role to date."

As he's never stayed over before, Stiles is curious. Maybe Peter snores or drools. Maybe he can get a pic of it somehow...

* * *

While it had taken some time to get Stiles in gear, once he's more agreeable, the next twenty minutes or so actually go smoothly. Stiles isn't reeking of stress and discomfort anymore, and he's much more amenable to helping.

He takes over when Peter can't quite reach his back, and he helps Peter clean himself. It's a little humiliating to be so limited, but given how careful Stiles is around the stab to his side and the gashes on his chest, Stiles isn't fixed on any perceived impotence. He's concerned with doing his task without hurting Peter. With Stiles' help, it happens quickly, and when Peter finally steps out of the shower, it's to Stiles grabbing towels for them both.

Peter tells Stiles to strip down and hang his clothes up because he's soaked to the skin anyway, and Stiles - only looking a little sheepish - complies. He's much more serious when Peter instructs him on how to bandage the wounds, and Peter makes a point to offer his thanks more than once, because being so up close to Peter's wounds seems to have a direct correlation to Stiles' anxiety.

When Peter's wounds are clean and bandaged, he makes a point to make sure that Stiles is dried off properly, and then he leads them back to his bed. Peter takes a towel with him just in case the wounds bleed through the thick gauze pads on his chest and side, but he doesn't draw too much attention to it. Instead, turning down the sheets, Peter lays the towel down and then crawls into bed with a low grunt.

Then, almost as soon as he's settled down, he holds out one of his arms for Stiles, beckoning Stiles to join him in bed. It's far more intimacy than either of them have harbored before, but now isn't the time to think about what this _means_. Peter just welcomes Stiles under the sheets and then pulls the blankets up over him when he's settled.

"Do you need to call anyone and let them know you're staying here for the night?" Peter wonders aloud, glancing at Stiles curiously. "If you need to use my phone, you can."

* * *

There's probably a lot to think about and maybe some things will change - positively or negatively - but Stiles isn't letting himself get bogged down. He's felt way too much tonight - worry, fear, frustration, uncertainty - and a lot of it involved Peter who's no longer _just_ some Alpha knot that Stiles gets to fuck himself on.

All of Stiles' sexual experiences have been with Peter, a great deal of them kinkier than he would have gone for if Peter hadn't been involved, but Stiles has greatly enjoyed each new undertaking. He's looking forward to trying more things too, for Peter to keep pushing him further and harder.

Somehow everything's more than just sex. More than just biology and hormones, more than just convenience, and more than just a good regular fuck. And it's scary and still new to Stiles, but that doesn't mean it's bad.

Playing nursemaid to Peter isn't exactly fun. Stiles doesn't have the strongest stomach when it comes to blood 'n guts, but he tries his best to hold it together. Getting out of his wet clothes is such a relief that Stiles actually lets out a content sigh when he gets to wrap himself up in a fluffy towel and dry off. The bandaging is done with a somber sort of focus, but Stiles manages and Peter's patient with him.

It still seems almost like a dream that he's climbing into bed with Peter. The fact that they're naked not really flickering any needle, but being allowed to cuddle up close - and carefully - to Peter is more than welcome. Stiles settles, curling up against Peter and inhaling his scent.

Oh, everything is still a little weird, a little different, but it's okay.

At the question, he shakes his head. "My Dad thinks I'm staying over at Scott's for the night. Should be fine."

* * *

This isn't something that they've engaged in before, but Peter's not going to turn Stiles down if this is what he needs. As much fun as it is to push Stiles' boundaries and push him to the absolute edge of his control, Stiles' lingering scent of distress and discontent is a reminder for Peter to play _this_ night safe.

Not that he has the strength to do anything else. Frankly, though he'd never admit to it, just climbing into bed and laying down has his strength taking a hit. He might be alive, and his body might be healing, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't need rest in order to make that happen. Even if he'd wanted to turn this sexual in some way, Peter doesn't think he'd be able to.

He doubts that that's on Stiles' mind though. Stiles simply follows after him like a lost duckling, and when Peter is settled, Stiles carefully squirms in closer to him.

There's a split second where neither of them do anything. Then, almost as if expecting Peter to protest, Stiles eases in close enough to curl up against his side. He nestles himself in against Peter and breathes in his scent, and Peter feels any protests fall away immediately. While this isn't typically what they do, it doesn't stop him from reaching down to wrap an arm around Stiles and pull him in closer. Right now, this is what Stiles needs.

"I'll be fine," Peter says, a little quieter. It's not related to Stiles' answer, but it is in relation to Stiles' body language. How he'd breathed in Peter's scent, how his hands keep touching Peter's chest carefully, as though subconsciously concerned that he'll break. Stiles is still nervous.

"You did a good job. The injuries will probably be mostly-healed by morning. So, relax, breathe, and try to get some rest yourself. It's been a long night for us both."

* * *

Stiles is very glad that he'd already come up with a cover story for his Dad. Having to spit out lies isn't exactly something he's ever been happy about, and getting out of bed to do it is even worse. His Dad may know about the supernatural, but Stiles definitely doesn't want him getting into everything. If there's one thing Stiles is sure of, it's that Sheriff Stilinski has enough to worry about and Stiles doesn't want to add anything if he can help it.

It niggles in the back of his head - the fact that he's an omega, cuddling up to an Alpha who boinks him, and that he's feeling better. Proximity. Maybe the start of some bond? God, Stiles wishes he would have paid more attention in his Sex and Gender education classes, but that'd never been a priority for him. Eventually having sex? Yes. _Talking_ about it? Definitely not as interesting.

Stiles feels like he's only okay doing this because _Peter_ isn't making a fuss over it. Which is... still weird. But whatever. It's nice when Peter's arm wraps around him and pulls him close. Stiles basks in the touch and comfort. Peter's here. Peter's okay.

Gradually, his stress and nerves begin to fade away and when Peter assures him... this time it doesn't sound so patronizing - it actually sounds reassuring and Stiles _is_ reassured.

"I'll rest if you rest," Stiles mutters back, but his tone doesn't manage to be all that bratty.

He closes his eyes, fingertips still lightly brushing over Peter's uninjured skin, touching and enjoying the feel of Peter, his warmth. It doesn't take Stiles long before he's breathing deeper, Peter's scent washing over him and his hand stops moving. Nestled up to Peter in a position he'd never want to be caught in, Stiles falls asleep.


	9. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas/happy holidays if you celebrate those things! ☃️💝
> 
> We're now writing the last chapter of this story (this scene/morning after will be split up into two parts). We'll then be focusing on finishing up [Out of breath, out of mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975218) (escort!Stiles, lawyer!Peter) & writing more on [Vexation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486197) (canon dom-sub Steter) ✨

* * *

* * *

To Peter's honest surprise, both he and Stiles sleep through the night. Stiles doesn't fuss or kick the way that Peter had assumed he would, and Peter's wounds don't open any further than they had during the actual fight. There's much to be said, much to be done, but it doesn't happen that evening. Yet, as the morning sun peeks in through the curtains of his bedroom window the next morning, Peter can't help but focus on the whole picture.

Beside him, Stiles sleeps on, curled up against his side and snoring gently. His scent, which had been inundated with stress the night before, is clear and content. It strikes Peter as he lays there in the lazy morning sun that this is something that he'd never expected to happen. When the deity had first forced them to come together, and every time subsequently, Peter hadn't expected this to edge into something real. It had been simple. A mutual benefit to the both of them. A sexual itch being scratched. 

Yet, as Peter thinks back on the night before - how his instincts had reacted before he'd given them permission to, and how Stiles' stress and fear had all but been screaming between them - he knows that something has changed. Admittedly, it's not a surprise. Stiles' emotions haven't been subtle, but they hadn't been _serious_ until last night. 

After all, Derek had walked in on them, and Stiles had told him that they were together. _Together_ means something, but as Peter sleepily looks down at the picture that Stiles makes against him, he doesn't think that _Stiles_ understands that.

Still, he doesn't wake Stiles up. He lets that happen on its own, and while it does take another half an hour or so, Stiles gradually begins to wake up. Peter sees the flicker of memory in his eyes before too long, but it doesn't take much effort to reassure Stiles that his wounds are healing up just fine. Stiles seems comforted, but unsure about what to say, and so - minutes later - when Stiles tentatively leans up, Peter doesn't deny him the kiss that he wants so badly.

It's a nice kiss, one that builds Stiles' confidence gradually, but as Stiles carefully explores Peter's lips and settles in against him, Peter knows that he's only half-paying attention. 

His musings from earlier that morning are suddenly on the forefront of his mind, and so when Stiles leans in again, Peter carefully turns his head away. He does catch a brief flicker of confusion in Stiles' eyes, but Peter lays a hand over his side in return.

"We need to talk," Peter explains quietly. Then, before Stiles' anxiety can get the better of him, he hurries on. "It's clear that this has gone beyond where either of us ever intended it to at the start. I saved your life with little thought to my own, and you've been giving me signs for weeks, whether you've been aware of them or not. I'm not complaining. But I don't think you've really thought this through."

* * *

Stiles isn't planning on falling asleep so quickly, especially all snuggly close with Peter, but apparently his body doesn't care what he wants. Good to know. Given the stressful night, it makes sense that he'd want to conk out, but still... _Cuddling._ It's something he's never associated with big bad Peter.

But maybe Peter isn't so big and bad anymore. Peter actually saved him which is... A lot of things that Stiles will think about later when he's less exhausted and suffering from pesky things called tense emotions. 

He sleeps, but doesn't dream. It's the first time he's ever slept with Peter in this capacity, but that fact doesn't pop into his brain upon slowly waking up. It's likely something he'll think about later - another bullet point to add to the list and all.

When he wakes, it takes a few seconds to sort things out because he's next to Peter. In Peter's bed. Peter's bandaged-- Right. Yeah. The manticore. Stiles wakes up quicker than he normally would, Peter reassuring him does the trick to get him cognizant and moving so he can check for himself. 

Only when Stiles is certain, does he try and go for a kiss because... because he wants one, okay. He doesn't need a reason. Peter's the Alpha who boinks him and they're both naked and in bed together, a kiss makes complete sense. Peter kisses him back and Stiles fully intends to do as much as he can as he nestles in close and savors it. 

Except things get cut short and Stiles doesn't get to start up another kiss. Instead, he's offered with Peter getting _serious._ A talk. 

Peter mentions what he did last night, something about _signs_ that Stiles has been giving off. Stiles is frozen, uncertain about where this is going or what he should be expecting, and then Peter finishes speaking.

"I haven't thought what through?" Stiles asks quickly. "I'm pretty sure I can't _not_ think about you."

* * *

This isn't a conversation that Peter thinks that Stiles will enjoy. Not because it's something inherently awful, but because it does entail Stiles really needing to think about what they've been doing together and what that means. Weeks ago, Peter wouldn't have bothered with this conversation. At that point, it hadn't been serious enough to risk what he's risking now, but it's hard to deny Stiles' distress, and it's even harder to deny his own instinctual response last night.

It's time for this particular talk, and as much as Peter doesn't _like_ the sudden, wary expression on Stiles' face, there's nothing that he can do. If this continues, Stiles needs to be aware of what he's actually craving, and what he'll need to manage to have it.

Stiles rushes in once he's found his voice. His scent is nervous, but what he says - that he can't _not_ think about Peter - is enough to make Peter smile somewhat wryly.

"Which is precisely the point. You think about me. You don't want me injured. You _want_ exclusivity. Arguably, you want a relationship."

Which isn't a word that they've used thus far, but it's fairly blatant by now. Peter considers Stiles for a moment, and then goes on.

"But you haven't thought about what that will mean. You know who I am. You know what I've done. Well... so does everyone else. Have you _really_ thought about what it will mean to be with me when you need to tell your father? Or Scott?"

* * *

Kissing would definitely be better than talking about stuff, but that's unfortunately not going to happen. But _Peter_ being the one to stop and reroute them into talking is something Stiles wouldn't have ever expected. It's not like they don't talk, but it's usually been teasing and joking and sexy-sex stuff... Which was brought up the last time Stiles came over all fired up assuming Peter was cheating on him and they'd had the, 'we can be sexually exclusive' talk. Ugh. 

It's still embarrassing to think about... getting so upset about something and having Peter sit him down on the couch to talk it out. Even so, there's a part of Stiles that's proud of the fact that Peter hadn't been seeing anyone else, that Stiles is apparently enough - that he's _satisfying_ Peter. It makes some Omega thing inside of him strut around all cocky.

But Stiles doesn't feel very cocky now. He's unsure where Peter's going with this, but the only way to figure it out is, unfortunately, to ask. Stiles sees no reason to try and play coy about admitting that he _does_ think about Peter. Why wouldn't he? Peter's his sexual partner and Stiles likes sex. It's nothing--

It becomes something as soon as Peter states simply that what Stiles wants is _a relationship._ Stiles is scooting up into a sitting position because this isn't something he wants to be laying down for. Shocked, all he can do is listen as Peter explains the reason why he's bringing it up - _why_ it's an issue. Because of who Peter is. Because what other people know. His Dad finding out. Scott.

"Oh," is what Stiles first says. His first instinct is to deny that any of that matters, but Stiles just opens his mouth and then closes it. He takes a few seconds to think. "No, I haven't thought about it in detail," Stiles finally says, more carefully than he usually would. "But that doesn't mean that I'm not... serious."

* * *

As much as Peter can tell that this is a conversation that Stiles would rather not have, he can't pretend that it's not necessary. Given the way that this has been going, and given how it has steadily progressed beyond simple sex and kink, this is a conversation that they need to have. Other Alphas might have merely read Stiles' complaints over the past few weeks as something inherent in Omegas, but Peter knows better. There's no biological base for jealousy when emotions are supposedly nonexistent. This needs to happen.

Predictably, Stiles doesn't look too pleased. He shifts up until he's sitting instead of lying down, and Peter reluctantly does the same. His chest still aches faintly, but the worst of the damage has likely healed by now. Still, injuries or none, this is a conversation that requires his full attention.

Stiles' answer is quiet at first as he undoubtedly works through what Peter is saying, but when he does find his voice, it's tentative. He doesn't sound as confident as he normally might, not that Peter is particularly surprised. This isn't exactly something that Stiles had been prepared for. And, while Peter does applaud him for maintaining his composure, he does have his own doubts about Stiles' response.

"You can still be serious, but it's something that you should be thinking about," Peter says simply, without heat. This isn't a conversation just so that he can accuse Stiles of anything. This is a conversation that is necessary if this is going to continue. 

"If this goes any further, you won't be able to hide it for long. Derek already knows, and while he'll keep it a secret, something else will happen. I don't remember _everything_ from last night, but I do remember how upset you were. Not just because of my injury, but because you had to pretend that you didn't _care_. Not just in the car with Derek, but around the pack." 

Peter takes a moment to let that sink in, and then adds: " _Really_ take a moment to think it through. How do you think Scott will react when he finds out? How will your father react?"

* * *

A relationship with Peter. Once, that would have seemed absurd to Stiles. Out of the question. Unbelievable. Maybe even funny.

But now? It's not so crazy. Just because Stiles hadn't been thinking in those terms, doesn't mean that Peter's not right. Peter being right about this doesn't even infuriate Stiles like it once would have, and that's a sign in and of itself. Because if it looks like a dog, sounds like a dog, smells like a dog... Chances are it's probably a damn dog.

It makes sense too. And as surprising as this reveal might be, having an explanation for his behavior these past weeks is actually a relief. Stiles was just chalking it up to getting Omegan emotional and he'd hated that... but is this better? Having _this_ be the reason? Stiles doesn't know. It may not seem as messed up to be wanting some sort of relationship with Peter, but wanting and having one are two different things. 

Peter sits up too, and Stiles sees the bandages wrapped around him - a reminder of what Peter did for him last night, that Peter put himself at risk to save him. It still sits uncomfortably with him - not that Stiles wanted to get all maimed up and probably die - but Peter got hurt _because_ of him. And Stiles hasn't thought about all the potential problems and issues with an actual relationship with Peter, but he's not shutting things down. He doesn't want to.

So, Stiles listens as Peter urges him to think about thingsaw. Last night Stiles already mentioned that he has feelings and feelings are a known precursor to the formation of a relationship. It's a logical jump, but none of this _feels_ calm and logical, not when the pack is mentioned and then Scott and his Dad again and Stiles knows that it _would_ only be a matter of time. 

Because feelings are complicating things - it's obvious. Stiles' fingers fidget with the bedsheets. They're both naked, but nothing naked-fun is happening, and it's just kinda _different_ to be like this with Peter.

"Well... Scott wouldn't be happy about it," Stiles says. "But he's my best friend and he'd have to get over it." That's what makes sense to him anyway. "And my Dad...?" Lips pursed, Stiles considers it for a moment. "I'm-I'm an adult. I get to pick who I want to be with." 

But somehow just saying that makes Stiles _feel_ younger - like if he has to state that, _is_ he really an adult?

* * *

For a conversation that Stiles clearly doesn't want to have, Peter's impressed that Stiles isn't immediately pushing back. It isn't a comfortable conversation given the circumstances, but Peter can see the writing on the wall. He knows where this is going to go if he doesn't address this now, before it gets out of hand. It's practical for all that not even he wants to have this conversation. Both because he _doesn't_ want to stop seeing Stiles, and because if he doesn't, it'll _mean_ something. Peter's been fine keeping this casual. Except it's not. Not anymore.

So, he listens. He watches as Stiles absorbs what he says, and he watches the flicker of unease and uncertainty pass Stiles' eyes. He watches the half-formed thoughts begin to gather and he watches the way that Stiles begins to fidget. It's not overt, but he knows Stiles enough by now to know what he looks like when he's nervous.

Besides, he smells uncertain. That's enough of a hint.

To his credit, instead of finding excuses - like Peter had been half-expecting Stiles to do - he does actually answer Peter's question. He inwardly doubts that Scott would be so accommodating about Stiles' choice of partner, but he isn't quite willing to say so. Not when Stiles is already visibly distressed. 

It's the mention of Stiles' dad that seems to make him deflate. He _does_ sound young and petulant when he gives his excuse, and he seems to realize it, trailing off with a heavy pause that Peter lets sit for a moment. This is important.

"Much as I hate to admit it, Scott _is_ important to you. Your father even more so. Neither of them will approve, and it could put you in... an uncomfortable, strained position for a while. Not to talk you out of it," Peter adds, "but I'm being realistic. This isn't just you up and deciding to date my daughter. I have... a _history_ with people you value significantly. You need to be prepared for that."

* * *

Scott _wouldn't_ be happy about Stiles and Peter being together in any capacity. Peter's the one who bit Scott - without his consent too. Peter had gone all Alpha-crazy as well. He might not be a villain, but Peter's not the good guy. Sure, Peter's helped the pack now and again, but he's never been much of a team player. It's almost like Peter _enjoys_ riding the line, skulking around on the outskirts and choosing when to offer _or_ withhold advice. 

But Scott's been his best friend _forever,_ and Stiles does think that the guy would have to eventually come around. He'd have to, right? The idea of having to _choose_ between Scott and Peter really just leaves a sour taste in Stiles' mouth, and while Stiles knows that Scott can be really stubborn at times, would Stiles want to be best friends with someone who doesn't respect his choices? Probably not. 

His Dad is something else. Something more complicated, because Stiles lives with him and he doesn't want to disappoint his Dad, because he knows that all his Dad wants is him to be happy and safe, and it stands to reason that maybe Peter, a werewolf, wouldn't be the safest partner--

 _Partner?_ Partner implies like, something more serious, like a mate. Stiles' pulse picks up and he pushes away the thought as Peter speaks. 

It's not the topic of conversation that's upsetting, not the idea that them being together is maybe complicated, but the implication if this talk goes south, then what? They're not together-together, so it wouldn't be a breakup, but _something_ would happen. They'd stop seeing each other like this because feelings don't magically dissipate. The only way to kill his feelings would be to stop seeing Peter like this.

 _'I have... a_ history _with people you value significantly. You need to be prepared for that.'_

It might sound like a warning, but there's also this care - _Peter_ cares - and he's trying to be practical and careful and _reasonable_ with all of this, and it's kind of weird, but also sweet, and it makes Stiles feel content and needy all at the same time. Honestly, sometimes it's amazing that he can feel so much at the same time.

"What I'm not prepared for is this to just stop," Stiles says with conviction. He knows that match. Drawn to him, Stiles scoots closer to Peter, pressing up against him. "I don't want to stop seeing you. Being with you. I can guess that it'll be difficult and shitacular for a bit once other people know, but we can just prove them wrong."

* * *

There's a split moment when Peter is talking that Stiles' pulse suddenly skips and then races. At first, he almost pauses, almost replays what he'd said just to try and find the reason for Stiles' hesitation. Then Stiles' pulse settles, slowing back down to where it had been before. He doesn't sound pleased; his pulse isn't calm and content, but it isn't as suddenly distressed as it had been. That's something.

Peter isn't sure what he's expecting out of this conversation. He's not sure what he's expecting in the long run. Even so, despite a lack of expectation, Peter is still surprised when he sees the way that Stiles suddenly eases in closer to him. He doesn't pull away, choosing instead to stay where he is, because he doubts that Stiles would welcome rejection right now. It's still surprising that Stiles would move _towards_ him, though.

After the reminder of everything that Peter has done, he'd expected Stiles to remember why they'd butted heads so frequently before all this had started. Color him surprised.

Peter finds himself even _more_ surprised when Stiles answers him with the conviction that he manages. Eyebrows lifting, Peter glances down at Stiles, curious, because he genuinely hadn't expected that answer. Stiles is stubborn but he still tends to be rational, and as good as the sex is, and as much as he and Stiles _do_ seem to get along, Peter knows the math. The addition of him isn't worth the subtraction of Scott and Stiles' father. Or so he'd assumed.

"You're serious," Peter comments, more appraising than anything. He shifts then, sliding his arm out a little more, enough to press against Stiles' side. It's almost him wrapping an arm around Stiles. "You do realize that the "shitacular" bit will be difficult when it hits. You'll have to deal with Scott trying to change your mind. People might ask you if you're insane, or if I've done something to you."

Peter lets that sit for a moment; he knows how Stiles reacts at the implication that he's insane. "Are you prepared for that?"

* * *

Stiles knows for a fact that Peter likes proving people wrong, so it feels safe to assume that taking that kind of angle might appeal to him... Not that Stiles thinks this is exactly something he needs to use an angle for, it's just in Stiles' nature to feel like he ought to break the tension, to make some sort of joke.

But this _is_ serious and Stiles knows it. How Peter's been behaving only highlights that fact. Considering that nothing is really simple in Beacon Hills, it makes sense that this would be no different. Given that Stiles has never really been involved with another Alpha - certainly not like this - it makes sense that Scott and the pack and his Dad would be interested and possibly concerned in a general sense, because Omegas need to be protected or some shit. 

And while Peter's not as diabolical as he once was, no one really likes or trusts him, which Stiles totally understands and gets but... He can't help that their sexual chemistry is off the charts and somehow pesky feelings got involved and Peter didn't get spooked or upset by them.

Being next to Peter helps settle Stiles' nerves, and that only gets better when Peter shifts closer. Logically Stiles knows that some of that is due to him being an Omega and wanting to be close to the Alpha that rocks his sex-world (and a few other things too).

It's only when Peter mentions people asking him if he's _insane_ that Stiles stiffens because he's not losing his mind just because he happens to have feelings for _Peter Hale._ Fuck that. With a frown, Stiles purposely grabs at Peter's hand and holds it before he's leaning against Peter to rest his head on his shoulder. Being closer is better.

"I'm sure it'll suck," Stiles sighs, trying to ignore how weird-but-right it feels to be like this. "But what other choice do I have? I don't want _us_ to stop, and I apparently like you enough that I'd consider pissing off a bunch of people to be with you, so congrats."

* * *

Infatuation can fade. Feelings can fade. Peter has seen it happen, and he's had it happen personally. One morning, one person can look like the reason the sun rises in the morning and the next they'll look like just another face in the crowd, entirely ordinary and boring. That's not to say that it's a guarantee that that will happen; Peter's not so jaded to assume that that end is inevitable. But he does know that it's possible, and that Stiles taking a leap like this will undoubtedly set him up for tension down the road if it falls apart.

Stiles doesn't stop Peter when he shifts in closer. He doesn't push him away, clearly preferring the closeness. As close as he is, Peter can see the way that Stiles tenses when Peter suggests that people might see him as _insane_ , but instead of drawing away or shoving back, Stiles does something even more surprising.

He takes Peter's hand. Holding it closer, Stiles squirms in closer and then leans over to rest his head against Peter's shoulder. Peter's not ridiculous enough to ignore the scent of contentment that flickers over Stiles' senses when he makes contact, and he's not stubborn enough to resist the urge to wrap his arm around Stiles and hold him closer. Peter breathes in his scent, checking for distress or unhappiness, and while Stiles _is_ still tense, there's little more to it.

He seems serious. He seems serious enough to actually risk his existing relationships for this, and as much as Peter might still want to challenge that, he can hear that Stiles is telling the truth.

That might change in a few weeks, when Stiles is feeling the pressure of his decision, but that's not for Peter to judge. Instead, with a small sigh, Peter leans back against the headboard of the bed, pulling Stiles with him, shifting him closer so that Stiles can lay propped against his chest instead - away from the bandages.

"I'm not looking to change your mind. I'm just preparing you for what's likely going to happen. Given... the way I saw things changing, I figured that you'd need to make that choice before it was made _for_ you. But if you're certain, and you're willing to suffer through _whatever_ speeches and 'concerned interventions' you're likely to experience, I'm willing to give this a try."

* * *

Stiles can already imagine what he'll hear from Scott - shock, concern, protectiveness, doubt, incredulity. Of course, when Scott gets going it'll be all over the place because Scott getting emotional doesn't usually help with his speeches and whatnot, but unlike his Dad, Scott at least knows Peter a little better, he's at least witnessed Peter pseudo-helping the pack and whatnot.

Scott'll get over it, and the rest of the pack will follow suit. Despite Peter talking about how Stiles is going to get bombarded, only now does Stiles realize that Peter's probably going to get cornered by Scott, and maybe Scott will try to get Derek to talk to him too, but at least Derek knows already and he didn't seem too scandalized.

The idea of his _Dad_ talking to Peter? Beyond bizarre, but Stiles thinks that him softening his Dad first would be a good start, and then they could go together. Stiles could introduce Peter to his Dad properly--

But that's a plan for later, because now Peter is holding onto him and things are getting sorted between them. Which is still difficult for Stiles to wrap his head around, but it is what it is. Peter's nice and warm - familiar - and Stiles lets himself bask in the closeness, enjoying the skin-on-skin contact. Hearing that Peter wanted him to make this choice before it was made for him? It shows forethought and consideration.

And Peter saying he's willing to give this a try? That it's _not_ just crazy hot sex? It makes something is Stiles' chest squirm happily, his pulse picking up, but not from nerves. He shifts to get onto his knees before leaning in and trailing kisses along Peter's jaw up to his ear. 

"You being all thoughtful gets me wet," Stiles whispers and he's not lying. 

Apparently communication and emotional openness from Peter does it for him. Good to know.

* * *

This was a conversation that had needed to happen, and Peter isn't fooling himself into thinking that this is going to be easy. Yes, it had started with a forced acknowledgement of mutual attraction, and yes, he had _absolutely_ used that mutual attraction to his advantage. The sex is still good. Stiles' little kinks are still hot and thrilling. The budding feelings aren't about to detract from that, but now that they've had the conversation, Peter feels a little more open about the idea of letting himself consider the opportunity for his own feelings to follow suit.

It had been easier to hold Stiles at a distance, and understandably so. Peter isn't exactly known for being a 'catch'. He'd never been someone that any of his partners had _wanted_ to introduce to their parents. Even now, it's up in the air, but at least he knows that Stiles is serious enough to _really_ believe that he wants this. For now, that's enough.

Besides, there _is_ something in Peter's instincts that settles when Stiles eases in closer. The scent of Stiles' growing contentment is like a balm on his own senses, and so when Stiles turns his head and begins to trail kisses up Peter's jaw, mindless of the stubble there - maybe enjoying it more _because_ Peter's usually mindful about shaving - Peter welcomes it.

But Stiles' little admission? That whispered not-secret? _That_ does get Peter's attention. It's still languid, a little lazy, but Peter breathes in Stiles' scent as his hand slides down. Sure enough, the scent of Stiles' slick is beginning to drift in the air, and Peter lets out a soft hum, reaching down to gently cup Stiles' bare ass with an appreciative hand. 

"So it does. I'll have to remember that," Peter says, turning his head to nip a kiss on Stiles' lower lip. He gives Stiles' cheek a small squeeze before letting one of his fingers casually slide down to find where Stiles' hole is beginning to get wet, and Peter takes a moment to pet over it. 

"Would you like me to do something about it?"

* * *

So, things between them may have been kickstarted by some crazy Pagan entity who thought he was doing them a favor, but that doesn't mean that things can't _develop_ going forward. A dubious beginning doesn't necessarily dictate a shitty ending. Maybe Peter's not some squeaky clean good guy, but that doesn't automatically make him the _bad guy._ There's shades of grey in everyone, nuances - even in Scott. Maybe Peter and Stiles have _more_ shades of grey, but whatever.

It won't be easy because nothing ever is, and Stiles knows he sort of has a chip on his shoulder about being an Omega and all of those implications and expectations that come along with that... but Peter's not actually all that traditional. Considering Peter's said _please_ to him before and Peter brought up and _is_ going to let Stiles fuck him one day? Yeah, traditional and Peter don't have that much in common and maybe no one else will get what Stiles sees in Peter and _feels_ about him, but he's the one with Peter - what _he_ thinks matters more.

Getting horny after some sorta-tense-emotional talk doesn't strike Stiles as particularly _horrible._ He thinks it makes sense that that's what his body would like. While he's worried about Peter's healing injuries, Stiles thinks that if he were to mention them, Peter wouldn't take too kindly to it. And it's not as if Stiles is going to get rambunctious-crazy and start grabbing and scratching at Peter where he's bandaged still. He's got _some_ self-control.

A warm hand strokes down his skin and Stiles spreads his knees a little in invitation. Somehow he doesn't think Peter's going to use thoughtfulness as a means to get him turned on in the future, but hey, Peter does like to surprise him. The nip to Stiles' bottom lip sends a spark of excitement, but when Peter's finger strokes over his wet hole, a pleasurable sound of anticipation escapes. 

"Yeah, you should definitely do something about it," Stiles readily agrees after pressing a kiss below Peter's ear. "But I'm pretty sure that _I_ wouldn't mind getting busy with you first." Peter _is_ the one that got clawed up, Stiles wouldn't find it to be _any_ sort of hardship to use his mouth or hands on Peter's cock. Besides, Peter probably wouldn't just stay still and take it, he usually doesn't. 

"Or... we could do a little bit of 69'ing?" 

If Peter laid down, Stiles could go straddle and be overtop him, his ass and dick hanging over Peter's face. It sounds like a feasible plan.

* * *

Any residual bruising that Peter has to his pride fades away at the feeling of Stiles' slick against his finger. It would have been simple for Stiles to hesitate, to wonder whether or not pushing Peter into action would be doing him harm in the long run. It would have been considerate, but Peter isn't looking to be treated like he's fragile, because he's not. Yes, his chest still aches in places, and his side still feels tender beneath the bandages, but he's not about to shrivel up and die.

Besides, breathing in the scent of Stiles' slick sends something more normal through him. Peter can feel his focus settling on Stiles, not on any injuries that might still remain.

Stiles only gets wetter against Peter's fingers, and that's a bit of a boost to the ego. Not that Peter had assumed that Stiles might find him _less_ desirable while injured, but it's still good to know for sure.

So, when Stiles kisses just under his ear and suggests returning the favor, Peter isn't about to deny him. But when Stiles goes on and offers an alternative, Peter's mind is set. He glances at Stiles with a small smirk, something a little fonder but no less appreciative as he looks Stiles over.

"I think I'd like to get a good taste of you," Peter decides. 

He doesn't wait for Stiles to direct him. Laying back against the bed, Peter lets himself sink into this mindset, his cock beginning to fill out in anticipation as he guides Stiles over to straddle his chest. He's a little sorry that he won't be able to see Stiles' face like this, but as Peter breathes in the scent of slick and noses up against Stiles' flushing cock, he thinks this will do just fine.

"Forewarning: I think I'm in the mood to take my time with you. I hope you're prepared for that."

It's not a question. It's more of a warning, but Peter still reaches up and guides Stiles' ass down. And, with a soft breath of something nearing contentment, Peter nuzzles his way between Stiles' cheeks and laps wet and slow over his hole.

* * *

As far as Stiles is concerned, getting down and dirty sounds like a fantastic activity to pursue right about now. He's not interested in overthinking the whole getting hot from emotional stuff and Peter being thoughtful. It's still Peter and Peter does it for him. And Stiles would rather do something than sit around and mull things over. While the nature of their previous discussion is a little awkward, Stiles isn't trying to avoid things, it's just that he thinks it all needs to marinate in his mind or percolate for a bit. Something like that.

And anyway, Stiles knows that Peter would rather be treated normally than like a fragile teacup, and normal for them is delightful fuckery.

It's impossible not to get wetter when Peter's finger pets over his hole like he owns it. Personally Stiles has no issue with that thought either. What works, works, and it's obvious to each of them that _they_ work together. 

Amenable to his suggestion, Peter moves and Stiles follows suit, carefully maneuvering himself over Peter and not hitting any tender areas. Filling out between his legs, his cock hangs, but Stiles knows what Peter wants a taste of. Not being able to see Peter's smirky face sucks, but Stiles is treated to a substantial half-hard cock that's waiting for him, and who's Stiles to disappoint?

He tries to gather his wits about him when Peter's breath is felt against his balls and a rather promising threat follows: Peter's in the mood to take his time. Stiles feels himself grow wetter from the warning, heat flushing through him, and all he can do is obey Peter as his ass is guided down and Peter's tongue comes out to play.

Immediately, his hole hungrily flutters around the teasing lick and Stiles gasps before exhaling slowly and wetting his lips. His hands come to steady himself, grasping Peter's thighs before leaning down and licking in earnest along Peter's cock with a pleased moan.

* * *

In a way, this is what they both need. A return to normalcy is important after a night like last night, and as much as Stiles seems better this morning, Peter knows that this is especially what _Stiles_ needs. He's never thought less of Stiles over his secondary gender; Stiles is Stiles regardless of what happens to be between his legs. But after an evening of life-threatening stress and uncertainty and now a morning of difficult conversations, Peter knows that Stiles needs this normalcy so that he can come back down.

His threat that he'll be taking his time is slightly for his sake, admittedly, but it's mostly for Stiles. After a night like last night, and after what he'd been through, Stiles needs the attention and simple connection that can come from this. Peter's always been interested in pushing him, in seeing what _more_ he can squeeze out of Stiles before he breaks.

But that's only when Stiles is in a mindset where he can handle that. He can't right now, and so as Peter listens to Stiles' gasp and feels his hole twitch against his tongue, he hums a soft note of satisfaction in the back of his throat and pulls Stiles' hips down, bracing him so he doesn't need to think about it.

Besides, he's got something else to focus on. Peter feels that first lick along his cock and he sighs, reaching one of his hands down to stroke along Stiles' back appreciatively. Stiles is eager and Peter will _always_ reward that.

"That's it," Peter encourages lowly as he kisses the slick beside Stiles' hole. "Just relax, Stiles."

Peter pets over Stiles' back again and rests his hand on the small of Stiles' back just so he can feel the way that Stiles squirms when he leans up again and laps wetly and hotly over Stiles' hole. Peter focuses on cleaning up the slick already there, savoring the taste and working Stiles up steadily with little licks, softer kisses, and purposeful nuzzles against his inner-thighs. He works slowly, almost maddeningly teasing so that when he finally does tense his tongue and lick deeper, Stiles will _really_ feel it.

* * *

Peter's usually in the mood to take his time, and Stiles generally has no _real_ complaints about that well-known fact. Given the shitty night and somewhat awkward-talky morning, Stiles is more than game for some drawn out and hot sex fun. 

At least, that's what he's telling himself now. If Peter edges him like crazy and denies him an orgasm too many times... Well, that's a different story then. If he's super worked up and Peter's being a wanker, Stiles will definitely rant and rave to the best of his ability (not that it helps much, but that's not the point).

Being able to smell Peter's familiar musky scent only spurs Stiles on. He's eager to lick and mouth at Peters cock until it's big and hard and hopefully Stiles' slick will encourage Peter to get to the fucking sooner than later, because man, Stiles wants to be stuffed full of Peter's dick. But given who Peter is, Stiles concentrating on this task is made more difficult by Peter's face so close to his hole - kissing over wet slick and making Stiles want to squirm and force himself on Peter's tongue.

He redoubles his efforts, hands squeezing along the base of Peter's cock as Peter licks him clean of slick, mostly just teasing and getting him used to the sensation. It's still enough to get Stiles dripping and both wanting and anticipating more.

While Stiles licks and slurps along Peter's dick, groans escape from his mouth, but he doesn't beg. And maybe because of that, Peter does, eventually, push his skillful tongue in.

Stiles shudders, cock throbbing as he clenches greedily around Peter's tongue. Without thought, he immediately tries to push down, hungry and insistent. Stiles' lips part and he fills his mouth full of Peter's cock, sucking hard. Stiles likes the idea of being 'stuffed' in both his mouth and ass.

* * *

Despite the last 24 hours, Peter has no qualms about returning to this. Stiles is open and eager, and after everything that had happened, the thought of losing himself in the taste of Stiles' slick and the warmth of his body is pleasant. Peter isn't ready to think about the next few days, or how long it will take him to actually heal. He doesn't want to think about the fallout, or about how difficult it will be when Stiles _does_ reveal his dirty little secret, but he doesn't need to. Not right now.

Right now, Peter can indulge himself in the sweet, musky scent of Stiles' slick, and the little spark of addiction he feels when he sinks his tongue into Stiles' hole. Peter's slow about it, not rushing, but he feels the way that Stiles groans and immediately pushes back, as eager and desperate as he's ever been. Oddly, that helps. The knowledge that Stiles' attraction isn't affected by Peter's injuries is a balm over a slightly-wounded ego, and it makes him redouble his efforts as Stiles grinds down against him.

Peter reaches up, holding onto Stiles' hips to keep him from pressing back _too_ much. He's not about to let Stiles fully indulge. Not when the alternative is watching him squirm and working him up so much that Peter is positive he'll have slick dripping onto his face before long. And not when the alternative is the way that Stiles wraps his lips around Peter's cock with such enthusiasm that all Peter can do is groan his appreciation. 

Stiles' eagerness is thrilling. He's active, squirming, clenching around Peter's tongue as he lazily fucks Stiles with it. He sucks Peter's cock fully, pushing himself with no real regard to a slow build up, but Peter can _absolutely_ appreciate a little hedonism here and there. He pets one of his hands over Stiles' ass and pulls back with a low chuckle, voice rough.

"One might almost think you were trying to accomplish something," he comments, turning his head to lick a small drop of slick from Stiles' inner thigh. "Not that I'm complaining. Your desperation has always had a rather... endearing quality to it."

And, with that same, low chuckle, Peter leans back in, licking wet and hot over Stiles' hole, fucking his tongue into his tightness every few licks, just to keep Stiles guessing. 

* * *

Sex is where they excel and that doesn't bother Stiles in the least. Besides, Peter and him are rather practiced in the fine art of fucking around. Although Peter may ruthlessly tease and push him sometimes, Stiles is never left dissatisfied. And maybe the idea of actually having an Alpha to count on is still sorta weird, as well as the fact that he's deliberately embracing his Omega-hood or whatever, but Peter never treats him like he's _only_ an Omega. 

Stiles just happens to _be_ an Omega but that's just one side of him, just like Peter's a werewolf and a pretentious jerk at times.

Actually, Stiles is pretty certain that they'd probably still get along if he was a Beta, which is a reassuring thought.

Despite how horny he is, Stiles is still mindful that Peter got clawed up last night, but it's not all up to him to be careful. Stiles knows that Peter has enough sense and strength to ensure that _he_ doesn't do anything ill-advised, like flailing and jabbing sore wounds, and it's really freaking nice to not have to worry about that practical stuff.

Not that Stiles _could_ worry very effectively while Peter hotly tongues his hole. Of course Stiles isn't allowed free rein over pushing back, but that's hardly new. He doesn't fight against Peter's hold on his hips, channeling any frustration into enjoying the musky-familiar scent of Peter's dick, and how his jaw needs to strain to fit as much of Peter as he can manage.

Stiles sucks sloppily because it's all he can do when Peter takes his time, completely unconcerned with how much Stiles needs - yes, needs - Peter's tongue jammed all the way up inside him so Stiles can maybe sit on Peter's face and then grind down to enjoy just that little bit extra of Peter's tongue deeper.

Peter's comment doesn't deserve anything other than a groan of acknowledgement, and that's what Stiles gives him. Maybe because of that, Peter goes back to alternating between licking over his swollen hole and thrusting inside. Stiles sucks greedily on Peter's dick, pushing himself to gag every so often as his hands squeeze and coax where he knows Peter's knot will be. His own (pretty, little) cock is hard, hanging between his legs, untouched. 

Thighs trembling and glistening with spit and slick, Stiles finally pulls off of Peter, taking a longer moment to catch his breath. Once that's accomplished, he demandingly wiggles back to entice Peter into giving him what he wants. 

"C'mon, Peter," Stiles whines, and because he knows that Peter doesn't like when he's vague, Stiles continues. "Wanna come with your tongue up me."

* * *

Peter's in no mood to rush. Not like this. Not when Stiles' slick is honeyed and sweet against his tongue, and not when he keeps making these small, desperate sounds in the back of his throat. Peter wants to draw out each and every one of them, wants to make Stiles _feel_ each one, because if there's one thing that Peter is good at, it's using his mouth. A skill that Stiles has benefitted from in the past on more than one occasion. A skill that Stiles is benefitting from now, if those soft sounds of his are any indication.

To his credit, Stiles gives as good as he gets. He doesn't skimp as he lavishes attention on Peter's cock, sucking and licking and pushing himself to make it good in ways that Peter thinks only Stiles could. He's a very attentive learner, and he's determined to make it good, and so every time that Stiles pushes himself to take more in as he squirms back hopefully, Peter rumbles a low growl in the back of his throat.

But, Peter can't pretend that he isn't affected when Stiles takes him in deep and then squeezes around the slightly-looser skin at the base of his cock, where his knot will fill out. Peter grunts a low sound in the back of his throat, hips lifting just a little until his side gives him a warning ache. It doesn't stop him from rolling his hips carefully, just to feel the grip of Stiles' hands and how wet and hot and slick his mouth is. 

Despite how good it feels, though, Peter doesn't rush. He doesn't push. He takes his time, keeping Stiles still as he savors each deep breath of Stiles' growing scent of desperation. Every second of it only seems to make Stiles needier, and by the time that Stiles' ass and thighs are slick and practically dripping with spit and slick, Peter knows he won't be able to take it for much longer. Just a little more, and...

There. Stiles' voice - breathless, needy, and hot - pipes up, and he sounds _wrecked_. Peter smirks to himself, the warmth of satisfaction settling into his chest as he kneads Stiles' ass slowly, appreciatively.

"Well, you _have_ been good," he muses low, his voice rough, "so I suppose you do deserve a little something. I'll tell you what..."

Peter trails off, pressing a wet, sucking kiss to Stiles' hole, just to watch the flush to it deepen. "If you show me how you want it, I might be inclined to let that happen."

And, as if to punctuate that, he pulls Stiles' ass down a little more, fucking his tongue lazily into Stiles' hole. And then, pointedly, Peter removes his hands from Stiles' ass, letting Stiles do what he wants to.

* * *

Stiles knows of the so-called honeymoon stage of relationships, or NRE - new relationship energy where you're totally twitterpated over the person (read: when Scott first met Allison). He's heard that things generally fade or calm down over time. 

Be that as it may, he can't ever imagine sex with Peter getting boring. Actually, Stiles can't imagine _anything_ with Peter getting boring, given who and what Peter is... All mercurial and cunning and sexy and intelligent and supernatural. Not that Stiles is going to share that with the class, however. Peter would have a freakin' field day with that.

Maybe the whole Alpha-Omega thing helps in the sexual chemistry department, but Stiles doesn't think that's the only thing keeping their dicks attracted to each other (things would be much easier if that was the case). 

Given that Stiles has been more than enthusiastic and good these past few minutes, he personally thinks Peter should be agreeable toward what he wants, but the real question is, will Peter think the same way?

Apparently yep! Stiles' chest soars in an absolutely hard fought victory, lips curving into a grin. But as Peter pulls him down, tongue easily sheathing inside of him, a strangled sound follows. The strong grip leaves his hips and Stiles wastes no time in bearing down on Peter's tongue, adamant on getting _exactly_ what he wants. He practically sits himself on Peter's face, stubble dragging against his wet ass as he shamelessly grinds down.

Not being great at multitasking in the face of trying to achieve his orgasm, Stiles doesn't get back to his part of the 69. His hands do squeeze and stroke along Peter's cock and he doesn't stop his needy movements, hardly giving a thought to Peter's possible difficulty from this position (because Stiles trusts that Peter would stop anything if it actually got troublesome).

Peter is relentless, allowing him to take what he needs and giving it right back. Stiles' eyes close in concentration, fully enjoying how wet and debauched they're _both_ getting - spit, slick and soon to become. It's glorious. 

Body taut and primed, when Stiles finally comes his hole spasms around Peter's tongue, thighs shaking as he throws his head back, nearly shouting his pleasure..

* * *

Truly, Peter is curious whether or not Stiles will rise to the challenge. He's sexually forward, but certain things do get him embarrassed, or humiliated. Stiles had been into the idea of panties, but he'd still been hesitant and uncertain initially, awkward and stilted like he hadn't known what to do in that situation. It's entirely likely that this will be a similar situation in the end, but Peter is curious just the same.

To Stiles' credit, he winds up blowing Peter's expectations out of the water.

Peter's not sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't what he winds up getting. Almost like his bonds had just been severed, Stiles practically throws himself into what he needs. Peter makes a small sound of surprise, but it doesn't take him long to adjust, petting his hands along the backs of Stiles' calves as Stiles grinds back against his face, practically riding Peter's tongue.

It is immensely graceless and base and driven by nothing but desire, and Peter _loves_ it. While Stiles' enthusiasm does make his wounds ache slightly, and while his frantic grinding and humping back against Peter's face does make it a little harder to breathe, Peter welcomes it all. He takes his breaths where he can, and he matches Stiles thrust for thrust, fucking into him with his tongue and welcoming every gasp and groan.

Peter's still aware of Stiles touching his cock. He doesn't expect Stiles to keep sucking, not when he's so focused on his own pleasure, and there's something hot in that selfishness that has Peter groaning low in his throat, drinking down Stiles' slick, lapping wetly at his hole, and fucking into it whenever Stiles shoves himself back.

This close, Peter can tell the moment that Stiles is close. He doesn't even need to be able to smell Stiles' arousal to know. He can feel the twitches in Stiles' muscles, can feel his desperation, and when Stiles finally throws his head back and moans so sweetly, Peter grabs at his hips with a growl and fucks into his twitching, clenching hole with his tongue, pushing Stiles further, rewarding him with everything he'd asked for.

Stiles practically drips slick when he comes, and Peter can feel the answering liquid heat against his chest as Stiles' cock twitches and pulses. Peter keeps eating him out, keeps pushing until those tremors in Stiles' thighs begin to even out. Only then does Peter pull back with a slightly-wet breath, stubble scraping over Stiles' cheeks.

"I'll have to remember that," Peter says, voice rough as his cock throbs in Stiles' hands. "How _perfectly_ greedy you get when I let you do what you want."

* * *

Like he usually does, Stiles gets what he wants - unapologetically sitting on Peter's face, grinding against Peter's skillful tongue until he gets off and makes a mess. As much as Peter may like to edge him and draw out or deny orgasms, Peter usually lets him come first and more than once, too. That doesn't stop Stiles from complaining at times, but there's certainly nothing negative leaving his mouth now.

Come shoots onto his belly and Stiles barely makes out Peter's delicious growl before the tongue inside of him jabs at him faster, ignoring how Stiles' hole clenches and flutters in spastic enjoyment of his orgasm.

A tongue up him will never be a cock or a knot, but all the licking, flicking, kissing and fucking is enough to rile Stiles up. Pleasure sings through his body, ass sensitive from the attention, head light and fuzzy as Peter works him through an amazing orgasm. 

It's understandable that Peter does, eventually, push him off and pull away to breathe. Trembling, Stiles attempts to calm down, but it's Peter's words that ground him. Hearing how _perfectly greedy_ he can be shouldn't be a positive thing, but somehow it is? Breathless, Stiles' lips pull into a smirk as he squeezes appreciatively at the base of Peter's cock.

"I'm sure you won't have a problem remembering," Stiles teases, tone languid. "You're not _that_ old." 

To drive home his point, Stiles leans forward to raise his ass and wiggle it in front of Peter's face before licking across Peter's slit. 

* * *

As much as Peter values control, he'll always appreciate a partner who pushes for their own. A few months ago, Stiles never would have dared, but Peter's more than pleased to know that's no longer the case. There's something thrilling in having a partner who isn't afraid to be demanding. It just makes the residual taste of Stiles' slick on his tongue that much sweeter, and the desire to _wreck_ him that much stronger.

Stiles only pushes that desire further. Coming down from orgasm, he's breathless, his voice warm and resonant, but Peter can hear the smile in his tone. He can sense the satisfaction rolling off of him, and it only makes him want to draw this out more. Peter can feel the growl of satisfaction rising in his chest, insistent and strong. Stiles' little comment displaces it for a second, but only so Peter can roll his eyes.

"You're impossible," he says, but cuts himself off almost immediately after. Above him, Stiles lowers himself down, wiggling his ass close to Peter's face. But it's the soft, kittenish lick to his slit coupled with the squeeze to the base of his cock that finally has that growl escaping Peter's chest, rumbling low and appreciative.

His hands slide up to Stiles' ass, squeezing and kneading his appreciation. One of his thumbs dips low, stroking almost possessively over the wet mess of Stiles' hole, flushed deep with Peter's suction and wet with residual saliva and slick. He rubs the pad of his thumb over Stiles' slick, spreading it around thoughtfully.

"By rights, I _should_ punish you for that little comment. But, I suppose pulling you down on my knot would suffice." Peter strokes over Stiles' hole again, once. The less movement he does, the faster he'll heal, and so... 

"Unless _you'd_ like to be the one to fuck me."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you! Did you like this story/update? We hope so. Comments - no matter how short or lengthy - encourage us to write more, so please take the time to leave one and show your support. 😊


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